


Obscure Sorrows

by TwilightsDawn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, BAMF Hermione Granger, Dark Hermione Granger, Defense Against the Dark Arts, End of the World, F/M, Hermione is the Mistress of Death, Horcrux Hunting, Person of Color Hermione Granger, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Second War with Voldemort, Time Travel Fix-It, Tom Riddle's Diary, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 96,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightsDawn/pseuds/TwilightsDawn
Summary: Pain is bewitching, in its own twisted way. It foraged her with hate stoked fires and beautiful heartache. Something was soothing in knowing it would always end the same way. A binding pain all felt sooner or later, that plunged into the abyss her heart, never to return the same. Forever changed, gifted with the flower of melancholy that enslaves. She was to water this garden of sorrow until everyone laid in deep the same earth. She will meddle with all of time and space until he is dead, and she would drag him down to the fiery pits with her by any means necessary.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Nagini & Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 333
Kudos: 217





	1. Fringe

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, after a few instances of writing Hermione and Tom and meeting some rather distasteful individuals I essentially gave up on the pairing... Told myself I wouldn't write it again. I suppose that I have come back to give it another go. 
> 
> This fic involves a little time traveling, a rising dark mistress Hermione, and a very toxic relationship between Hermione and a younger Tom Riddle at the start at least. (though not underaged). I feel a need to make this clear as not to deal with people again. I in no way support or condone these types of relationships in reality. Abuse such as manipulating and taking advantage of someone in a bad situation is not romantic, and it's not meant to be portrayed as such. I like to write complex topics and explore how horrible things can shape characters. If that is not your cup of tea, that is fine. I just ask that you are respectful in the comments. 
> 
> Thank you, and on with the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other notes about this fic. 
> 
> Cannon up to the Deathly Hallows. Where there is a major plot divergance. 
> 
> This is my first attempt at a love triangle.

The bar had seen better days, even when she was a little girl that had to pass through it to buy her school supplies. It had been dingy. The place now was worse, stains of past battles and spell damage that can never be repaired. Dark curses carving deep into tables and countertops. She likes it here though, it brings back memories of a better time and a better place. Brighter than the faded wallpaper. She has changed from that native happy girl she used to be. She can close her eyes and see herself and the boy she had a crush on arguing over their pets. 

She missed her cat. She would do near anything to have some sort of loving companionship nowadays. She sighed deeply, playing with the top of her shot glass. She was developing a pretty good tolerance to the stuff. Her eyes were red, from the mess of it all. Drinking did little to numb the pain. Nothing could do that anymore, but it made her forget about the way things were now. The witch could remember the past more vividly, think about how she used to feel; like when the world had meaning. 

The new world was a dystopia, crawling with Death Eaters and want to be crime lords. There was no Ministry and there was no real government. Just a man with too much power that did not care enough to rule properly. He had the suppression and terror down if nothing else. Her charms alert her to the people that have entered the bar. She can feel her hair on her arms rise. 

Yes, shady characters, near all black. No markings on the robes. It doesn’t take being the brightest witch of the age to figure out why they were there and who they worked for. She watches as they scatter and attempt to blend. They are getting bolder and bolder. She taps her red nails against the counter debating if it was worth getting up now and making them follow her, or playing their little games and finishing her drink and maybe another one. 

“There is nothing more chilling than the flash of the killing curse, or the screams of those tortured under a crucio.” The man that has slid into the empty barstool next to her says in a manner that he must think can intimate her. Especially with the way that he doesn’t bother to hide the mark on his arm. It twists and is raw dark and ugly. She hates the mark, and it seems that too many wear it without earning it. This one seems like he is a low ranking member. How dull she wished they wouldn’t insult her by sending these types. Though none of these types of people are even remotely frightening. She has faced much scarier things on her path to power. 

She tilts her head to the side, her hair slipping over her eyes. “An interesting way to start a conversation, stranger.” 

“I do like to leave an impression.” He starts, pulling out his wand, and playing with it. She doesn’t give him the chance to continue on his vague and rather foolish threat. 

“But I've heard better.” She holds the glass up in her hand, tilting it back and downing it in one gulp. The burning of the liquor doesn’t phase her, it's as bitter as the reality of her life. “And it always plays in the background of my mind as I stare into the eyes of those around me. It starts off with, as everything does, a breath, and then eventually comes truly alive as a deafening silence.”

She watches as the barkeep represses a shudder as she turns the glass over. The person sitting next to her can not help but feel the magic in the air. She uses it to surround him so that all he can hear is her. The place lost around them in her little bubble. She taps the glass against the bar top, the only sound in their little pocket of reality. She lets him feel the power and the threat dangling in the air. He is now becoming quickly aware that she is not the easy mark that he had been hoping for. She smiles, revealing perfect teeth. She loves this part really, and there are few things that give her joy anymore. 

She plays on his fears, using it as a way to push him into a corner, he is moving a bit back in his seat. 

“Strange, isn't it? How the most emotionally nerve-racking sound there can ever be, is the lack of one. It conveys something more clearly than sound ever will. It reminds you of something deep in your bones. Something you can't ever forget even if you tried; that in the grand scheme of it all, everything fades away, and there is nothing you can do about it. And, it doesn't matter how close you are to something, the message will always be there if you choose to see it. Make peace with yourself and go out with a bang, or resist the truth and flutter into despair.”

She leans in, her wild brown hair sparking with life as she brings her eyes to meet his. They glow with magic and promise. Dark ambitions have left her with gold that flows in her veins, and they spring to life at the chance to be released. The man is now shaking and she folds her hands in front of her. Not even bothered by the wand that is inches from her face. She can see his few friends watching and waiting to make their moves, she hardly gives them a glance. They can’t hear what's going on. They have no idea what is going on. 

“My question is Dear, are you going to face Death and go out with a Bang? Or are you going to die with not even a sound escaping your throat?” She whispers to him. 

His eyes widen, and then narrow. He opens his mouth to say a curse and she flicks her wrist, and his throat is slit open. He makes nothing but a gurgle and collapses to the floor. She watches him wriggle on the hardwood. Releasing her spell so that all can hear the dying man. He can’t heal himself, she didn’t suppose that he would be able to. Not many can when they dabbled with the Dark. She can though. She has never allowed herself to slip down too far, but she is far enough that her core is certainly poisoned. The gold in her veins burns slightly. The men that were with him quickly abandoned him there. They would receive punishments no worse than what she would have given them should they think they could threaten her. 

She stands from her stool, swinging herself off gracefully. “Sorry about the mess Tom.” She places a few extra sickles onto the counter. “I really should stop coming here, it’s just you make the best-mixed drinks, and sometimes, I really need to take the edge off.” 

Tom nervously smiles at her. She doesn’t doubt that he will tell the other Death Eater lackeys that would come in the morning all about her and her power. Perhaps he would even tell them that she tended to come on full moons, and nights of power. When things were heightened really. She always needed something after one of her, particularly deep premonitions. She had never cared for divination until the fates had literally opened her eyes to it. Such things took sacrifices, she traced her arm feeling along with the very deep cut that had made its home permanently there. 

“It’s alright Ms. Granger.” He manages to scoop the coins up before she leaves through the front doors. She waves backward at him. She wipes her hand on her robe, getting rid of the blood. 

~/*\~

_Spells, flying, twisting, and screaming. She can see them blend into a light display that is anything but pretty. She climbs higher, the crescendo of voices never leaving her ears. She makes it to the room of golden sand and she is thrust into the glass, it crushes under her, stabs into her and the gold rushes in. She is able to see the webs, the streams, of time and fate. The only sound is her own screams, as she is torn apart a hundred times over._

__Hermione holds her head, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. Her nightgown clinging to her. The Black silk feels too warm and she traces against her pale brown skin the golden veins. She wills her breathing to its normal state._ _

__At night she can still dream of it, she can still see it all if she closes her eyes. The memory will not die, it will not fade, no matter the years, or lifetimes. How she acquired this gift of near untamable power still leaves an ache in her chest and makes her heartbeats heavy. Her heart only beats, for them now and them alone. Those that she will never see again. Those that have passed onto the next adventure as Dumbledore would have called it. She knows what lies on that adventure, peaceful sleep for all eternity. It’s a luxury that she has no time for._ _

__She stands on sturdy legs and treads to the shower. Her thin curvy body is riddled with scars the worst on her back. The glass fractures had built a pattern that almost looked like ripples of broken skin, all cased over in gold, they would open from time to time. Leaking blood and magical time. She used to hate it, used to scrub at her skin each time it broke open to stop the visions of timelines from burning into her dreams and mind._ _

__It never worked and now she is used to it and has accepted it. Much like she has accepted her role in this new world. She is a Mudblood, but earth breaths life. The earth was the cradle where everything stood, and nature found away. She if anything was one of the few new breeds brought forth with new magic and blood. Hermione would make those Purebloods, that were literally killing magic, with their inbreeding suffer for damaging the natural cycle of things. She sheds her clothes and heats the bath. She dips her toes into the water and sighs deeply._ _

__It is her that will press against the creature that started this all. The resistances will continue to spring up and are whipped off the face of the earth. They are destined to lose, they are not powerful enough. They lack experience, and they don’t know how to put the nails in the coffin correctly to defeat the great evil once and for all. Voldemort wins, he wins the day no matter the adjustments she makes. Yet she keeps playing with time, death, and life. For she will get it right in one of her reiteration, one of her rebirths. She will do this until the gold runs out of her veins and she closes her eyes one final time._ _

__Till then she will fight, she will fight with increasingly risky and dark spells if needed. She cares little of what she must become to defeat such a thing. Fate and magic are woven; she will not avoid her destiny forever. And like all things that means she will cease to exist. Her core is in flux by her meddlings. It is like the night sky, so dark yet so beautiful. She clicks her fingers and a small flame enters her hand, brighter than any lumos. She looks out into the streets of the muggle world, her home is bathed in concealment charms, and notices me nots._ _

__She twists her wrists and her beautiful flames dance across her palm, and she lights one of her cigarettes. Waving the flame to be gone once it has done what she has asked of it. The water is above her ankles now. She signs content._ _

__There are always lights cast upon the earth, street lamps to stars. Light cannot exist without darkness. Darkness surrounds the light. One cannot exist without the other. It is important to embrace the dark side to achieve balance, the dark is full of great power much like the light. She had learned this lesson and she had learned it well._ _

__There were two sides to the spectrum._ _

__Light was power._ _

__Darkness was power._ _

__To be the best and most powerful, one had to embrace the light and the dark. When there was a lack of one, she went in search of it. Let it guide her. And she had found yet another possible solution. She just had to try it. She closed her eyes and breathed out the smoke. The light of the flame mixes with the dark._ _

__She needed some sort of light as everyone that she had ever loved and cared for was no longer with her. And she was still in search of it, within herself on certain days and some of the longer nights. She sought to be pure, kind, and many of the qualities that she had near forgotten. Mercy and forgiveness options that could be great forces of good, but damn her._ _

__The darkness called more strongly, intoxicating was its pull. It was powerful yet unstable. She had to be careful when using it, so it did not consume her with its cannibalistic trade-offs. She had to be careful not to go in too far, to the point where darkness was all she knew. She strived not to get herself lost in it. For she was sure that she would lose sense of who she really was. Its song was alluring and sung of the pains she had felt, the murders she had committed in order to continue to live another day._ _

__War was quite the semblance of gray. She wanted so much to be gray in alignment._ _

__Light was powerful in many ways. But she had been blinded by it. Hearing its call from her friends and Dumbledore. When in the light too much, a person was blind to the dark and all the resources that came with it. Too long had the ministry tried to subdue anything that even remotely could cross the line.  
They feared the dark because they couldn’t see or understand it from their point of view in the light. If one was to stay on one side for too long as they did they could not handle the other. The dark had consumed them as they had no idea how to combat it. _ _

__She puffed out another deep cloud of smoke, her eyes sparkling with the light feeling. Her new plan would be set into motion. She would get that little soul piece at any price. She reached up and felt the chain to the locket she let hang there. The fake was so convincing, that she knew some brave people that sold their lives to retrieve it._ _

__She vanishes the rest of her cigarette and slips into the tub. She lathers the soap into the palm of her hand and rubs carefully across the old scar that stands out boldly. She feels the curves of the words and hums to her herself. In a day she would be in a world where this word would have a less dark connotation to it. She smiles to herself, she was going to be the best defense against the dark arts professor that Hogwarts had ever seen._ _

__~/*\~_ _

__The world bends around her, the gold steams down her hand with the blood. She drips it across her circles and enchantments. She wraps her fingernails into the wound and draws more of it out, so she can trail it onto her arms and draw the symbols that will bind her to that time, and place. She grits her teeth as her body twists and pops, it's like an apparition but worse. Reality is contorting to make room for a contradiction to the timeline. She reforms from darkness of blood and shadow, her bones snapping back into place like the cracking and creaking of an old home. The sound of her appearing is that of the loud clap of thunder and echoes around the swamp that she is standing in. Her robes drape around her. She feels her bare feet sink into the muck and earth. She lets the darkened waters lap at her heels._ _

__Her eyes adjust easily to the dark. The full moon illuminates the forests and bog around her. She feels at ease in this dark and formidable place. The forbidden forest sings of corrupted magic and creatures. Its hum and thrum are replenishing the magic that she has used to get here. She draws her robe closed around her, she was getting better as this time the darkness had reformed and retained her clothes. She had been nude the last time. Hermione gives thanks to the mother that resides in the glowing summer moon above her. She trails her blood onto the earth and to the trees marking her sacrifice, and the importance of her task. She has bought herself 7 months, then she shall be sucked back through the earth regardless of the time nor place, back to her reality and timeline._ _

__She sends forth her magical documents to the school, in the form of a raven. She loves them more than owls, smart intelligent creatures she enjoys their favor. They represent the entity she has met a few times on her travels and cycle repeats. She will have the desired placement, regardless of what the old fool that sits in the castle thinks is best._ _

__Hermione spends a few days living with the creatures that call the forests home. The centaurs avoid her, they can tell that she is unnatural, and the merfolk scare while she drinks from their waters. The spiders trail closer to her, though make no move to eat her. They can sense danger clinging to her and they are enticed by it, but not foolish enough to attempt to harm her. She would love nothing more than to take some of their venoms from them. Their fangs would be useful ingredients, but she will not justify taking them unless she is provoked into it._ _

__It takes only a couple of days to hear back. Her beloved ravens harass the owl that attempts to bring the word._ _

__An interview. She folds the paper in her hands, feeling along with the corners the compulsions there to try and keep her from actually attending._ _

__“Such a naughty old man.” She tells the nearest Magpie, before muttering the counter curses onto the parchment. “He can’t get rid of me that easily.”_ _

__Her raven caws, loudly as if laughing. “Send this Répondez s'il vous plaît, for me.”_ _

__The bird takes it into its waiting beak and swoops viciously at the barn owl as it takes off._ _

__~/*\~_ _

__As her date arrives she adjusts herself with magic and layers her mind with shields. She steps out into town, making sure that she cuts off a man that should be headed up to the great castle behind her. He looks at her, his smile is bright, and shows far too many teeth._ _

__“Why hello there.” He greets her and she forces herself to return the longing and happy smile on his face._ _

__“Hi.” She tilts her head. “It is so wonderful to run into someone as famous as you. Do you think that you could spare me a little of your time? I am a little lost.”_ _

__“I am a rather busy man, but I can make an exception for a woman of your beauty.” His words drip with honey, lies, and desire. “You may walk with me towards the castle. I have a job interview and I can attempt to direct you as we go.”_ _

__She pretends not to sense it, making herself look as innocent and gentle as a doe. “What a coincidence I have an interview as well, but not for a couple of hours.”_ _

__“Oh what position?” He eyes her fully as she brushes her hair back. He looks at the curves of her neck and lower. She can’t keep the playful smile off her face. Prey was always predictable._ _

__“Muggle studies.” She lies, with such grace that there is not a trace of deceit on her face._ _

__“Defense Against the Dark Arts.” He says rather proudly._ _

__She pretends to be impressed and a bit concerned for him. “Rather brave of you.” She flutters her eyelashes at him, as if in shock that he could be so courageous. “I heard that position is cursed.”_ _

__“I plan to break it.” The man says boldly, fishing out his wand. “I have fought banshees and vampires.” He moves his wand hideously without skill nor form as if defending against unknown dark creatures and invisible assailants._ _

__“Perhaps a demonstration Monsieur.” She smiles, luring them a little off the path and closer to the forbidden forest. She makes sure that her shoulder shows to him. He takes the bait and the second that they have moved a little past the tree line she traps him with an immobulus and lets those that have been following her, have something they definitely want fresh meat. The spider's thin legs skitter across the ground._ _

__She can’t help but laugh at him. Laugh at the nativity, how many had fallen victim to this disgusting blemish on society? She catches her breath as her followers start to creep closer intrigued by the form that is laying there helpless. He can’t even scream for help just look at her with wide eyes._ _

__She signs catching herself, her hint of madness fading. “I am rather sorry about this, but I really do need the position.” She plays with her wand, turning it over in her fingers. “No hard feelings right? You did manage to kill and obliviate a lot of people that really could have changed the world. You must have known it would catch up to you.”_ _

__He struggles, she can tell by the red his face turns. She leaves him to the spiders, trailing carefully and alternatively to the castle. None would be any wiser how the great hero Lockhart disappeared nor would he ever be found. Spiders were quite good at disposing of things they could turn anything to liquid._ _

__She adjusts her robes, puts a grand smile on her face, and acts in total awe of the castle in front of her. She feels the wards and the magic brush against her like a hug. Hogwarts had been her home. Her true place of belonging. She closes her eyes, letting her know that she will not harm the students, not even that annoying twerp Malfoy. Accept me and my goals she wills the school and like a good mother even though she is disappointed in her lion child, the wards relent and allow her passage._ _

__Hermione bows to the man that waits impatiently near the main gate for her. Severus Snape is one of her least favorite people on the planet._ _

__“Asterope Belonda.” He says her name as if it is a curse upon his existence to acknowledge._ _

__She smiles at her name regardless. She had chosen her first name based on the nymphs of golden light, starry faced beauty, and lightning. She would seem like a champion of the light to keep her precious friend Harry safe for the time that she could spare him. Her other half was derived from Babylonian mythology’s goddess of earth, heavens, and fate. Her symbol was a snake and Hermione was rather proud of her serpentine ways. The hat had considered the house briefly, as well as Ravenclaw. If Dumbledore was half as smart as she gave him credit for, he would riddle out the context of her name and leave her be for what she needed to do._ _

__She bowed her head graciously. “Good evening, son of Prince.” He can’t know her, but he is looking at her trying to place her. She chuckles lightly, letting her voice sound like chimes. She would truly love it should he see the connections. Severus blinks momentarily at her as she strides into the building._ _

__The games truly have begun._ _


	2. Morosis

“Follow me.” Severus takes off, he glides much like an oversized bat. She wonders if he does so to be dramatic on purpose or if he is doing it to cover his own astonishment. 

Hermione smiles to herself regardless as she makes her way after the man that she has left speechless for a moment. Severus doesn’t talk to her about anything as they move through the castle. She pretends to be hesitant in her movements waiting for him to make the appropriate turns and such. She knows too much about the castle. She had spent 6 years in the place, even when she was not following and rushing through the corridors after Harry she had slipped places to hide. The world was cruel. She knew it better than most. She had to search for places to be alone. Words and such had been hurled at her for things she could not help, looks and blood. She could not change her blood nor could she change the color that her skin bore. 

She can see lines of cruelty that had helped define her on Severus’s face. How he looked unkempt, hunched into himself, and his snappish attitude. How many nights had he relived the nightmare of finding Lily the woman that he loved dead on the ground?

Oh yes, she knew about that. She knew all about the little Prince and the Muggle that helped to create him. She can see the way he holds himself, still not quite as proud as someone that is of his skill should. The crooked nose that has been busted several times and no healing spell would ever allow the damage to be undone. It forever would be a testament to a child abused and broken. She honestly couldn’t tell how Severus could not take his head out of his own ass far enough to see that Harry carried all the signs of an abused child. Hate was such a strange and ignorant beast.

She noted the secret passages as they passed. She has used the map on many occasions, charted routes, but now she can feel the castle's magic and the way it wraps around itself. Hogwarts loved to show things for those that were magically inclined. She still has the map stored in her personal bag that she has placed everything that she needs for this trip. One never knew when they would need to know where other people were. She has all the paperwork to make it seem like she is a real person and made sure that all properties that she held would show up as private and under thick wards. She would like to see Dumbledore try and check up on it if needed. She is rather impressed with herself, not to pat herself on the back or anything. 

She gracefully avoids hitting Snape as he stops abruptly in front of McGonagall's office. So she would not be meeting with the Headmaster for this most interesting. 

“Asterope Belonda.” The woman greets eyeing her like a mother when deciding if this would be yet another one of those interviews. 

“Delighted to meet you.” Hermione greets with a small curtsy. “Madam. McGonagall, I am a huge fan of your work in the transfigurations field. I particularly like your paper on the extended beliefs on the laws of resistance.” 

The woman looks taken back. “You are well-read.” 

“But of course, is it not an educator's job to be constantly learning?” She tilted her head, her spelled hair hardly moved from its place. “If you have time, I simply would love to talk about the theory of weight and mass's impact on the exchanges.” 

The woman is already looking impressed. Hermione knows that she looks young but she is far older. It is a consequence of the gold that lines her veins. She nods to Severus once and enters the office. 

“Tea, Ms. Belonda?” She smiles kindly as the old woman set about conjuring teacups and other things that were needed. 

“Thank you.” She sat in the chair near the desk, feeling like a little girl again in many ways. 

“Will you need any sugar?” 

“No, I think it will be fine without.” Hermione smiles knowingly. 

When Tea has been poured, business starts. McGonagall bringing up the history and prestige of the school. Asking about her past experiences and her qualifications. Heminoe weaves lies with truth like a master. She has had much experience with it and knows how to be charming when she so wishes to be. She has been to many gatherings, stoked many fires, worn a thousand masks. This just so happens to be one of them. 

“So what do you think?” Hermione says politely. 

“I think you are overqualified,” Mcgonagall says.

“Perhaps,” Hermione says in tandem. “I do though wish to teach, it matters little the compensation. I love children, and I love learning. This is a chance for me to broaden my herzions and learn of your English magic in comparison to those that I know.”

“And that is why my dear I am making you a recommendation to the headmaster. I disliked his previous choice. He was how to put this… most conceded and I doubt would have been any use in teaching the most basic of spells.” 

“Humility is a virtue that some must really learn if they wish to be accepted by others.” Hermione quotes one of her favorite recent stories. 

“I do think we will get along Belonda.” The older woman rises from her seat to lead her to meet with Dumbledore. 

“I feel inclined to agree. You may call me Asterope.” Hermione holds the door open for the other. 

“Then by all means call me, Minerva.” 

~/*\~

It takes a lot to control herself when she sees Dumbledore. She knows him from the future and while she does not wish to kill the old man, he has his uses. She wants to curse him. Curse him for what he has done and will do. 

If Voldemort was the champion of the Dark, then Dumbledore was that of the Light. They were in constant battles. She knows what the man in front of her does to her best friends. She knows the isolation that he causes his students and his abhorrent tastes in politics. He drives his wedges in deep and causes the rifts that will ignite in the second war to come. One could only experience so much prejudice or feel slighted so many times before it brought spells and blows. It matters not if the pressures are against those that were once of the Dark, were once of Death Eaters and their sympathizers are the goal. Forcing change always leads to backlash. And dear Dumbledore is not ready for that recoil. 

Yes, Voldemort is the Dark Lord but Dumbledore is the Light Lord. He manipulates his pawns and his chess pieces to their proper conclusions. He has his high seats in the government though he makes no move for the minister as he is in the place that he can shape hundreds of minds and many generations. He instills in them the fear of the Dark by only teaching how to defend against it. Not to control it. Dark was not something to fear if one knew the prices, the costs, and how to mitigate them. She knows that he will attempt to play her as well. She is the unknown board piece. She will turn the story on its head for a couple of months. Where she knows not to destroy the timeline beyond repair. She feels nothing for switching things up a bit giving more students a fighting chance in what is to come. Yes her defense class will be unlike that of which the school has ever seen. 

“Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of this fine school. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.” Her eyes never leave his face, she wants him to play his little games with her. He knows she has addressed him as was custom in many nations that are Pureblood in traditions and she is interested to see how he will react with McGonagall leaving them be. 

His blue eyes sparkle as they meet hers and she can feel slight urgings of his magic reaching out tentrals to feel hers. She wills hers not to react to the very violating touches. She gives him access to what she feels comfortable sharing beyond her shields. She gives him an image of a girl that was not accepted because of her blood status, one that wants desperately to fit in, to climb, and make a name for herself. She gives him a notion of the pains she has faced, the loss she has suffered because of blood purity. She shares with him her dislike for Voldemort, but not her hate. She can not give him that, It would overwhelm him and he would not see her as someone that he can possibly manipulate and control. She feeds him the respect that she had once for him, and his eyes sparkle more with promise. 

“Ms. Belonda, you do not need to address me so formally. Would you please sit, we have much to discuss. Lemon Drop my dear?” 

“It would be improper, however, if you insist I will.” Dumbledore nods his head. “Very well. She agrees to his terms. “No thank you on the sweets though.” She bows her head still respectfully. “I just had tea, I am afraid and far too full at the moment.” 

“You seem to have made an impression on Minerva then, she does not bring out the tea for just anyone.” 

“It is relieving to hear that. She seems quite fierce, embodying the house she leads. Not so much as your potions master that directed me to her, but fierce none the same.”

“Ah yes, Severus.”

She can see his mind turning, choosing his words carefully. Such a delicate act that they are playing. She does so love games. She feels the slight danger and the stakes. If she is not hired it shall be very difficult to get what it is she has come to this time for. But not impossible. 

“He frightens all it seems, even the students. One would never find such a keen mind though anywhere else.” 

“He does not scare me per se…” She sits down pulling up a little on her robes. “Merely is someone that I can see myself getting on the wrong side of if I am not careful.” 

Dumbledore chuckles. 

~/*\~

The ember danced about her, nipping furiously at her heels, whispering to her inching closer with every beckon. She winced, cold material made warm only by ebony leather and wood gripped unbearably tight within her hands, she would not fall here she would not waver. The call of flame would not suffocate her, she stood, unflinching, as she raised her strength from deep within her. Crimson fell all around her, though she knew her chances were slim she would continue. 

Her voice never whimpered, her cry echoed ferociously as she came down, a wisp of movement and light, a waltz only those who dared follow her courage knew, this war was only the beginning. They lay dead there on the ground scattered across the great halls of this place that she now teaches. All of them children, brought down by the monster that tightens his hold on magic like a dragon that covets gold and emeralds. She will not fail them this time. She promises it as she watches them all be sorted from her place at the staff table. She doesn’t wish to see this great hall come crashing down in a battle that they inevitably lose. 

She blinks taken back by her younger self looking up at her. Those long woven together braids that will eventually be taken out and nothing but fuzz and a wild mane will persist. What must she be thinking? 

There is finally a teacher that looks like me here? It’s another year and I have yet to look over all the books to get a head start? She longs for that simple nature, that simple call, and worry. She turns and can see Sevurs scowling down at the Gryffindor table. 

“Is there a reason that you are staring so intensely at the student body?” She asks him playfully. “You would think you are unhappy that the students are back and the year has hardly started.” 

He just glares at her. 

“Ah, we are back to the silent tactic.” She sighs deeply. “You know that if you do this, I will just feel like I am talking to a stone wall and assume that you agree with me.” He had stopped talking to her since she had gotten the job and started trying to engage him in conversations. Trelawney has apparently predicted that they would be together as a couple by spring. Hermione was more than happy to play into that. There might have been a staff poll going.

That scowl is now full force. “I would not make such a ridiculous assumption. If I were you. I just wish not to engage in your nonsense.” 

“But you did just engage Severus. You broke your vow of silence, after 7 days no less.” Hermione matched his scowl with one of her brightest smiles. She can see some of the students looking at her now, and she wonders what wonderful rumors that they will come up with to explain the behavior. He huffs and takes a long drink from his goblet. McGonagall is watching them with amusement. She must be in the polling. 

“I am so excited to get started.” Hermione carries on. “I have weeks' worth of lessons all built and ready to go. I am thinking of some team-building exercises to start. Get some house unity going.” 

Severus chokes on his drink. “You what?” 

“I mean there seems to be some sort of rivalry going on here and that is great. But where I come from there is such a thing as competition that has spiraled out of proportion. Why just this afternoon I heard several of our prefects already deducting points willy nilly to get the lead. It doesn’t seem very fair at all with teachers that are pointed heads of houses sure to give more points to their students that they think deserve it.” 

Severus looks at her like she is trying to change the very foundation of the school and has declared him the enemy of fairness and Hufflepuffness.

“You noticed it too.” She pretends to interpret that look as something else. 

“Of course I noticed it. That's just how things are. The house rivalry keeps the students in line.” Snape says it as if he is reading her a rule book. Oh, this is too fun. She really would be doing that team-building exercise. 

“But surely some houses are singled out that way.” Hermione takes a long sip from her teacup. “Is it not better to play by different rules? Lead by example.” 

“There are generations worth of tradition. You can not change it.” He tells her with conviction. 

“I think it is up to neutral teachers to play a role in fixing that.” She leans on her hand looking at him sweetly. 

~/*\~

Her first class with little Slytherins and Griffendors she can not help but be excited. She is sure that by now the world has heard of her unique first lesson and approach to teaching. She sits in one of the seats that would be reserved for her students they file in and wait on their respected sides of the room. 

“This will not do,” She shakes her head. “Please sit down where there are openings. I do not have assigned seats for you. I would like to see mixed seating but we will get to that. Most of you will not want to sit with those from other houses.”

They already are questioning it. Looking at her like she is from another planet. They move about the room selecting seats that they would feel comfortable with. She stands slowly making sure that she is not above them by any means. “I wish to ask you all a question. Please answer me honestly, how do we shape the world?” 

They look between themselves. 

“Surely someone has an answer. How is the world shaped? How do we interpret what is going on within it? Or do we perhaps I shudder to think not care at all.”

“Morals?” Someone asks. She can not tell anything other than the direction as her eyes sweep the room. She certainly has their attention. She briefly makes eye contact with Harry, but she will not treat him differently than the others nor draw attention to him needlessly. 

“Ah yes very true. However, my morals may differ from yours.” Hermione stalks between the desks sitting on the front table that her students have not shuffled to. “If we are shaped by the morals of those we know and are like us alone it will cause some issues will it not?” 

“Rules and laws.” Her younger self blurts. 

“How is it that we have laws, rules, and beliefs in right and wrong then? Just because a rule is there doesn’t make it fair nor correct.” Hermione smiles at her youth. Even as she puts her hand down a little disappointed. 

“Experiences.” Malfoy surprises her. He is watching her with gray calculating eyes. 

“Yes, that certainly does help it, right along with morals, beliefs in right and wrong, laws, and such.” 

They all mention similar things and she lets them list and try to come up with ideas. 

“There is no right nor wrong answer to this question. This will be the question that I would like us all to be able to answer at the end of the year. If you have the ability to shape the world how will you choose to shape it? We will be learning from each other and about Magic here that is misunderstood and has both the capability to be used to save lives and end them. It is my job to teach you about these things, but it is yours to make decisions on what you choose to believe. I wish to broaden your minds to others' way of thinking whether you agree with it or not.” 

“Sounds like conversion,” Ron whispers.

“Ronald Weasely is it?” She turns her head to him a few of the Slytherins snicker. “This classroom will include a lot of teamwork between houses. It is a disgrace what has happened between the classes. The divide between us shall not stand in this classroom. Forget house points and the like. This school was built out of unity by the 4 greatest witches and wizards that this country and even other parts of the world has ever known. All that attend here have a purpose and reason to be here.” 

She eyes them all. “The greatest of all divides and hate comes from lack of understanding. When one side of this divide feels slighted things escalate. How do you think the rise of Voldemort happened, or Grindelwald? How do we get weak leaders and we gain laws that suppress rights to celebrate and perform traditions?” 

There is a hush, she can feel them all, their confusion, their intrigue. She can feel Hogwarts singing with magic. 

“The answer is Hate and fear. Hate for those that did not seem like us. My goal is to show our differences as strengths, not weaknesses, and bridge the gap.”

She waves her wand then and the patchment distributes itself. “Please look over my syllabus and be prepared for lessons on Wednesday.” 

“Professor.” A hand shoots in the air. “There is nothing on here about point awarding.” Pansy… 

Hermione has many memories of the other and the torment that she had suffered at her and Dracos hands. She knows even what they grow into. But she will not destroy her message. “That is because I don’t believe in house points.”

~/*\~

Hermione takes pride to say that she lasts 10 days before she is meeting with the other heads of houses over her rather unique approach to curriculum and rule-breaking. They all try to disillude her in her methods purely out of how to discipline. Hermione kindly informs them that in Muggle schools they do not have a house point system, and they are perfectly capable of retaining order. She has only had one issue so far and it has been nothing that she could not handle. 

“My goal is to help to create unity. Your school is divided. It has been from the days of Voldemort I would hazard a guess. Students come from a wide range of homes and beliefs and you have sandwiched them together and have yet to teach them how to be accepting of those they view differently from them. It is hostile because you have not offered solutions to heal old wounds. Placing them into houses that will be echo chambers to whatever ideas are popular. You have students running around calling each other racial slurs, and are deducting points. There is no attempt to curb the ideas of blood purity. We have those of Muggle descent telling Purebloods that they have to follow the Muggle way of looking at things and doing things.”

Hermione folds her hands in front of her. “I have not been here long, but I see many of the things that caused wars to happen where I came from. It's not just my job to teach the subject matter but to teach open-mindedness. Certainly, we can be all proud where we come from, but no so proud that we act as if the only issues are whether or not our students complete the work we have dictated to them?” 

McGonagall looks proud of her. “I have been saying this for a while, there ought to be mandatory Muggleborn and Pureblood classes that teach each side of the world. Muggle studies and A subject that teaches of the old ways.” 

Hermione does her best not to look smug at the uncomfortableness on Dumbledore’s face. “I would like to offer up the idea of a club if the school can not start a course till next semester or school year. I would like permission to start a culture club.” 

~/*\~

“Hello, Severus.” Hermione yawns as she opens her door. “Is there a reason that you choose to grace me with your presence?” 

“Yes.” The man scowls deeply at her. “I have overhead some of my Slytherins talking about your latest form of lessons. Paring them with a member of another house for the next two weeks.”

“Word travels fast then.” Sher runs a hand through her hair. “And it bothered you so greatly, it caused so little sleep that you chose to come and bother me about it? Or were you worried about my well being?”

“Hardly,” Severus growls. “I am merely telling you that your idealistic goals are going to cause the very thing you are fighting to go against to deepen. There are those that feel threatened by your move. Things do not stay in the building long until they reach their parents.”

“I have stopped a few mediocre pranks. They will need to step up their game if they wish to change my mind. I do not think that most parents will complain about inter-house interactions. Those that do are fearful of change, and their children forming their own opinions. They will be exposed by the ideas that we discuss.”

“They will see you removed before that.” 

“It is rather nice then that there is a curse on my position. One year is all that I can give.” Hermione shrugged. “I did find the ruins carved. Someone was quite angry about being let go or not receiving the position.”

“This is serious.” Severus' eyes narrowed. “You are calling trouble to you in the form of eyes you do not wish to come after you.” 

He almost sounds like he cares. Maybe he has come to respect the way that in the past month she has shown more humanity to those in his house than most of the other teachers combined. 

“They have already come after me before.” Hermione shakes her head. “I do not fear them, nor Dumbledore. Fear of the dark has created children of the light, cowering from the night. Fear of the light has caused the parents of the children of Dark to become blind. I embrace the balance of the universe. The things that go bump in the night, exist because we have imagined them. We create our own evil, and cast it out into the world.”

“Is all that you say philosophical and nonpractical? I am starting to take you for someone that believes in the fates and divination.” 

“Fate and such does exist, whether we wish to acknowledge it or not. Some of it is brought on by our choices and some of it brought about from beyond our control. Take Harry Potter for example.” She watches his face darken. “The chosen one so to speak was fated by the mark on his forehead and a choice made by someone that was fearful of such a child. It is not his choice to be such a person, he does not want the attention. He shrinks in his seat away from it. He is humble due to the marks that he has hidden under his robes. He wants to be himself someone of his own, but cannot.”

“What marks?” Severus latches onto that. 

“Certainly you have noticed the fading bruises and the way that he hunches into himself?” Hermione tilted her head. “I have not gotten him to admit to me anything, we are not close enough, but I know the signs of abuse when I see them. Mr. Malfoy for example has a few curse scars, and a need to point out his own superiority. He will not recognize it as abuse, such as many others but I know the difference between punishments and abuse there is not a fine line as some people want to believe.” 

Severus looks at her arm and she knows that he can see the bottom of a word poking out from it. She smiles, one that is strained. She likes to see those gears turning. “Is there anything else that I can help you with Severus?” She leans against the door folding her arms.

“No.” He slinks off throwing one last look behind him. 

He isn’t heading to the dungeons she notes but towards the Headmaster’s office. She has shifted one of the pawns around it seemed. Interesting, she hums wondering what Dumbledore was going to do about it. And more importantly, she wonders how she can get the object that she has come back in time for. She has not seen the journal near Ginny Weasley, though she knows that it wouldn’t be that simple. The crafty soul shard is not going to let her just write to him anywhere and no girl is going to do such a thing where she can be watched. She sighs. Perhaps she will need to wait until the attacks start happening in a few weeks. It gives her some time to try and work on talking with the Ravenclaw’s ghost. She will know where the diadem is. Hermione knows that the location could have changed due to Riddle moving it from there after creating his Horcrux but it is a start.


	3. Vermillon

_The breeze from the mountains carried the voices of ancestors they whispered past her. They carry thousands of voices, those that she has heard and those she has not. They cry and scream at her. The sands of time are blowing like a desert storm golden sand mixing with ashen sky. The tree's roots dig into the soil where a kingdom once proudly stood. Its branches leafless, lifeless, and never to move again. There is nothing left of the castle that had stood for ages, it is buried by ash. The forest charred behind her. It's so cold, she shakes gripping at herself. There is nothing, nothing in this time. It's the end of it all. It has to be, world war 3 has happened. She had been jostled forward in the stream._

_She can not breathe, it feels like the air is toxic. Her eyes water, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Her blood is dripping down her back. It’s pooling around here. She sinks in the dust. She will freeze._

_Dear god what was she to do?_

_She wandered to the ends of the earth, she passed nothing but destruction. She can not die. She leaks blood and gold. There are no sounds. No sound at all other than her own heart beating and the wind. She feels like she is going crazy. Her tears have long since dried on her dirty face, frozen in streaks. There is one thought that keeps her moving. She can not die. Not till she kills him. She knows that he causes this. She will tear his soul to even finer pieces, crush it to the fine powder she is forced to trudge through. Hate was an ember of the flame that overtook love that once burned bright inside her. The lightning that used to travel through her veins at the feeling of happiness and stolen kisses. Hope really changed people, for the better or for the worse. Her hope to avoid this end, this fate was twisted by the need for vengeance to make him pay for this._

_The gold snitch in her hand balances against her palm. It's one of the few things she has left of Harry, her time, her world. She feels along the cracks of it. She is tempted to let it hover but is scared that it will leave her. She feels a sharp stab like a feeling in her chest. She falls forward. Gripping hard onto the snitch and clutches it to her chest._

_I am going to die. She whispers, and from the snitch a small stone drops._

The nightmare lays her bare, exposed, vulnerable. She should never have touched that stone. She blinks back the memories grabbing a pack of cigarettes and throwing on loose-fitting robes. She knows a good place to hideout. Students would still be asleep at this time and even if they weren’t she’s decent enough. She runs a hand through her hair. 

The second that she feels the cress of the warm fall sun she sticks one of the cigarettes into her mouth and lights the thing ablaze. She holds the fake locket, feeling the emeralds with one hand. She sits on the bridge between the castle and the forests. She has her feet dangling off the edge. Her hair is wild around her and the wind calls her to jump. It would not do any good, she would crash on the rocks below and all that she would lose for the effort was more blood and dust. Till she was dust to dust and there was nothing left she would still be here. She would know she had tried a few methods even met the being that likes to lurk between the realms of life and Death. The Reaper could fuck right on-off. She hates his meddling. 

“You caused this,'' She whispers to the locket between her 5th cigarette. “You stole everything from me; my innocence, my childhood, my life, and my lover.” The locket is empty as it is not the one that she had been after that day at the ministry. She has the urge to throw it, yet she has become obsessed with wanting to find the real one and drive a bloody basilisk fang through it, all the consequences be damned. This is her burden to carry. 

She hears footsteps and she turns her head. Severus, she flicks the end of her death stick. He keeps finding her. Perhaps there was truth to the prophecy that their quack of a divination professor cooked up. Call her cynical but she had a feeling that she had pissed him off somehow. She seemed good at it no matter the timeline or life. She knows his allegiance is not to the Dark Lord, nor is it to Dumbledore truly. It's to the very thing his Patronus embodies. Dark souls beyond redemption could not conjure such a thing. Even if she will murder anyone that says the bitch of a woman Umbridge has any redeemable qualities. 

“Is there something that you need?” She flips the bud off the end of her fingers and into the cavern deep below her. She is tempted to light another one, puff it into his face for his Slytherin Godson being such a pratt about her club. 

“Do you insist on doing all things that are dangerous?” He stops several feet away from her. 

“Sometimes I do two of them at once. She swings her legs and hooks her feet into the ledge standing up outside of the rails. 

“You are crazy.” 

“Perhaps.” She smiles at him “Or I am just that confident I will not fall.”

“If I am not mistaken you said that you would be gone after this year. Do you really wish to make it happen so early into the first semester?” Severus’s dry sense of humor shines. 

She laughs softly; she can not remember the last time she has laughed in honesty. “It's almost cute that you worry about me.”

“I don’t want to have to take up teaching your courses.” 

“Right you would need to deal with your Gryffindors for a few more classes.” The wind whips her hair into her face, but she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t need to see, she can feel. 

“Neville is a menace.” Snape defends himself. 

Hermione knows how the poor boy can be even in her own class. She wishes he could to find his confidence sooner. She also wished that she was having more promise with the ghost of Ravenclaw. The grey lady was truly wary of her. Most of the ghosts were. They could perhaps tell that she had contact with the other side. She had 2 of the Deathly Hallows after all. 

“And terrified of you.” Hermione moves her feet walking along the edge till she is particularly looking through the tighter spaces like it's a window. She leans in a bit so that she is closer to him. “You know when students are too busy being terrified or their teachers they can't work on anything.”

“You sound like that, know it all, Granger.” Severus huffs. Hermione scowled. “I see that you don’t like the comparison.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Not particularly fond of talking ill of my students. Especially those that are trying.” She made her way off of the bridge, nailing the landing jump required. He huffs like he would argue that point. 

“I asked before if there was something that you wanted.” She turns back to him. 

“The headmaster is looking for you.” He says simply. 

The old bat. He probably wanted to assure her that everything was fine with dear little Harry or to integrate her.

“Perhaps I should make him wait longer, it is my day off you know.” She got far too few of them. The students always found her if she did not stick herself in the room of requirements. 

“I would not recommend that.” He sounds put up with her. Or perhaps the whole situation that the Headmaster is seeking her out for.

“He did send you to find me, like an errand boy.” She taps her chin as he sets his jaw. “I suppose I had better talk to him so you don’t get in trouble then or you could just say that you never found me, and we could enjoy a stroll around the lake. I would so love to know more about you before I answer such an annoying summon.”

The man is silent; he perhaps has decided that she was mad, and in a way perhaps she was. This though was another chance to pick apart the man that was Severus Snape. The contradiction to the cause that he joined in love with a Muggleborn. He is one of her least favorite teachers ever to exist, stricter than needed, rude, and cold. She though wants to see what lies behind masks. What makes a man like Severus tick? She didn’t want to break him, nor fix him. She doesn’t wish to alter the timeline beyond repair. Just perhaps shake it up a bit more than a few of her other travels. 

“So you enjoy talking with him about his whimsical school and his waxings about old paints.” She turned to gesture around her. “Or his way of ignoring children's safety for training his little savior. I heard about the 3 headed dog and the stone. Such an interesting tale if it is even half true. He should be fired.” 

That gets a reaction. 

“What are you playing at.” He has his wand seconds from being drawn. 

“Everything.” She answers honestly. “Or whatever option gets some sort of reaction out of you.” 

He leaves her standing in the grass and she sighs grabbing at the locket around her neck. Why did Holloween have to be so far away? She almost wished Riddle would start making his little plays so that she would have reason to hold Harry after class to hear that large snake. 

~/*\~

“You sent for me.” Hermione stands across from Dumbledore and she can practically see a 3-way chessboard in front of her. There was Riddle on one side, Dumbledore, and herself. The ministry was busy playing checkers in the corner. They were not exactly tactful, nor useful. They could only get in the way of what was actually unfolded. There is a delicate balance here. She has played with one of the pawns and she has attempted to make it wise up to some of the things that Dumbeldore was part of. 

“Ah, good Severus found you, _my Dear_.” 

“I wasn’t exactly hiding.” She leans against the door. Trying her best not to curse him for the term of endearment it's no better than my boy that he used to feed Harry. She supposes that my girl would sound worse though. She feels his eyes travel her, he has no sexual desire for her. He is gayer than the stupid names that he comes up with for passwords to his office and the robes he wears suggest. No, he is looking for magical items that can be used to alter the appearance or hide things such as dark marks under powerful, undetectable glimmers. Such things leave traces. She has none that hide who she is, her wand on the other hand. Well, it wouldn’t do to have to explain why her wand looked exactly the same as a young Hermione Grangers . 

“Are both of you getting along? I know that it was an interesting start to the school year for you.”

His hidden mind must have been screaming, who are you and why are you disrupting my plans so. She loved it. 

“I think I am the one that is putting all the effort in.” She gives her best smiles even lets it light up her eyes. “He is quite fun to rile up.” 

“Good, good.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle and he gestures to her to sit. She does and eyes the tea set. 

“A very unique choice.” She does not bother to hide too much of her disgust with it. A poorly made phoenix, and ugly eggshell looking cups. She takes the tea carefully. She will not trust anything that she doesn’t check with her wand. 

“An old gift from a student.” Dumbledore chuckles. “I only bring it out for special occasions.”

“I am flattered.” 

The old man continues chuckling. “I suppose that I should say why I invited you up. I was interested in hearing how things were faring with you.” 

“I would be better if my employer let me have my day off, but I digress. I have made progress with recruiting members for my club. We will be talking about the traditions of Samhain, the muggles version of it in Britain, and other traditions around the world both Magical and Muggle. I think it will be an enlightening experience.”

She waves her wand to conjure some sugar over and to check what is in her drink. The man hadn’t laced it with anything so she takes a long sip. 

“Is it wise to bring up some of the older Wizarding traditions, some involve blood?”

Yes but that was for warding against spirits she pleasantly decides not to bring up that fact.

“All the more reason that they are to learn about it in a safe and nonjudgmental environment. The walls are thinner around that time of year, and they need to be aware of the possible dangers of Faye and Sluagh. Some may wish to contact those that they have lost and could make errors leading to rather dangerous consequences.”

“Some would argue what you are doing is teaching them Dark Arts.” Albus is staring into her soul over his teacup.

“Of course I am. One has to know about the dark in order to counter it.” She met that gaze. Your move old man she would have smirked if she could get away with it. 

“be careful how you do so if I can not persuade you.” Dumbledore shakes his head. “The ministry may catch wind of it.” 

“Dear Headmaster, there is nothing illegal about the rituals that I intend to let my students learn about. Some students may feel more welcomed by it considering that you have catered for the last half-century to the more Christan celebrations.” Hermione tilts her head. “A lot of the Pureblood families might be more relaxed around Muggle Born students if they are not feeling like their religion is being pushed aside.” 

Dumbledore strokes his beard. “I suppose along that line of reasoning we will need to have extended out of bed hours.” 

“That would be appreciated. I can only write so many passes.” She smiles lightly. “I could use some help in setting up the event.”

“I am sure that Severus would be delighted to help you.” The way he says it, she knows what he means is he is going to have her be watched. She wouldn't let him in on the fact that she knew.

“That would be advantageous considering he has the most Purebloods and Halfbloods that would be more familiar with traditions. having him assist me would encourage further house unity which. would be wonderful.” 

“It is settled then.” Dumbledore nodded. “Though please let me know if there is anything that I or the other staff can do to assist your efforts.”

~/*\~

It does not take long for the whole school to know. There is excitement in the air, a hum of voices. Quidditch and traditions of old. The student body is alive. Her club is thriving. Her classes are still building on spells and acceptance. She knows there are still those that will not accept her role in changing things, they even will see it as a weak attempt to turn things around. Appeasing all is not a message what Death Eaters would want to march with. They did not want to co-exist, they would press their children to do the same. 

She can feel the divide, it's not as deep of a cavern as before but the ground is still shaking threatening to pull more down or trap those on the other side of it. Draco, Pansy, and their little respected gangs are such forces. She can hear them whispering among themselves and she will put an end to whatever it is that they plan to do to disrupt her celebration. 

“Gather.” She claps her hands and the 35 students that are part of her club all stop talking and eagerly move to the front of the room. She has transfigured the room to have good seating arrangements. She has much to tell them, much to have them share. Harry, Ron, and her past self are huddled on one end of the room in the sea of Weasley children one is missing, Ginny. She eyes Luna and gives her the sweetest of smiles. She had best lookout for anyone that might have been calling this poor girl loony. 

They go about the circle. Luna has the most interesting ideas to celebrate. Herminoe does not argue all of them. She gives space for it all to breathe. Before talking about the Dark creatures that moved between worlds. 

Death is not easy to talk about, nor are creatures like Faye that loved to steal and hunt magical people and children in particular. She gives them a warning about conjuring and speaking with the dead. But she also gives them remedies and old ways to protect. Pines were particularly useful, sages, and spices. Welcoming the right spirits and banishing those that would do harm. 

At the end, she moves to light her candles. She places a white seven-day candle in the window to guide the dead to the Spirit World. Light the candle and spoke the important words. 

“O little flame that burns so bright, be a beacon on this night. Light the path for all the dead, that they may see now what’s ahead. And lead them to the Summerland and shine until Pan takes their hands. And with Your light, please bring them peace, that they may rest and sleep with ease.”

There are a few prayers that are said as she bids them goodnight. It is the first night of 3 planned nights. Severus had been very helpful in helping to encourage some of his house to attend and providing her with the herbs and spices. He had a patrol to do or so he claimed so he did manage to escape her company for the evening. She is too tired to take offense to his excuses. 

~/*\~

It will not be till the morning that Miss Norris is found strung up in a completely different, more deserted hallway that is closer to Hermione’s personal chambers than she would have liked. She imagines a poor Ginny being torn from her bed and forced to walk in a nightgown in the moonlight to slaughter the chickens and write the words on the wall in their blood. How Tom must have relished the power and ego boost. The blood is dry but it drips for her like the opening of many old festering wounds. 

**_"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir... beware"_ **

'Oh, we are enemies Tom.' Hermione thought, 'but not the young pathetic version of you that resides in that diary.' 

She dares him to try it. Dares him to hurt those she cares about, threaten this school, and come after her. She would end him if she did not have better plans for that wretched soul shard. Still, she swears she sees red when she hears Draco call his fellow students Mudbloods.


	4. Mudblood

Hermione is not upset, not angry, not livid. There is not exactly a word that describes her extreme displeasure. But she is sure that it is some subset of near blinding rage. She just manages to suppress the magic that is whirling in her.

The hallway is crowded with children all on their way from breakfast. The proud blond has pushed his way through the crowd to make his peace known. There are worried glances, and Severus has the deepest scowl she has ever seen on his face. Even if that wipes the smug look off of Draco's face momentarily, She is caught between wanting to wring Lucius's neck for raising his son to be one of the most horrid little boys there is and thank him because without his stupid attempt to have vengeance on the Weasleys she would not be able to have a better chance on getting the diary. 

The students are ushered to class and there is clean up to be done. Miss Norris is confirmed to have just been petrified, which makes Hermione think that just like before there are still fates that are to take place despite the meddling. The words are brushed off as a hopeful prank. The teachers will be meeting about the incident as soon as classes let out for the day, of that she is certain. One word from Albus about her rituals sparking this and she would toss him off the astronomy tower herself by his beard. There would no need to wait for Snape to do it. Filch seems the most upset out of everyone, but there is not a single person to blame for the actions. There are too many people that have witnessed and interacted with the crime scene for him to point out any particular delinquents. That isn't stopping him from trying, no if anything it's sparked a need for him to sulk about even more and deduct points for even looking at him wrong or breathing too loudly.

The students are not necessarily scared but their interests and their need for understanding and clarification from adults shines through. They need reassurance that their ideas were being taken seriously. Their concerns needed to be addressed and she is sure that Albus is waiting to come in and sweep it under the rug as it was a poor PR stunt. She pitches the bridge of her nose. She was going to have to be the one to tell them. She was the only real adult in this school that did not have a political agenda or wanted to save students' feelings and pretend like there wasn’t any danger ever in the world. 

No that would be far too easy, reality was often more troubling to talk about. She runs her fingers against the old scar. 

**Mudblood.**

The word had tainted everything about magic. When she was 12 years old her eyes had been opened to a world of hate that she could not understand. She was hated for the very thing she could not help, no one can change who they are to be born to. They did not even know her and they hated her, her very existence, and her parents. Hated for centuries ago cruelties that they had no way of changing or controlling. Why was she to suffer for something as silly as blood? And yet there were thousands that have died, snuffed out like a blown-out candle. Mudblood that was all that it took to be worthy of death. 

She has to tell them right? Tell them what can happen because of hate. Show them if need be. She can not change them all, she can only plant the seed of doubt in their minds. There is no other person to do so. It would not be Dumbledore, nor Severus, nor McGonagall. Yes, how fucked it was that she is able to look at those that she needed guidance from, and reassurance, and all she can see is Hagrid telling her that Malfoy was wrong to think of her that way. So it must be her. 

“Enter.” She motions for her second years to enter. The Slytherins take their positions and so do the Gryffindors. They are still on opposite sides of the room, not a mixed table among them unless she forces it. She can not do this mission alone. 

Yet she is the only one that is striving for unity truly. The class is silent as the bells ring, and it is silent after as she looks at her students. So young… How best to tell them?

“Professor you look a little…” Young Hermione trails off. “I mean I can't help but notice…”

“That I look terrible.” She nods her head grimly. They all look at her, the one that is always composed is looking a bit haggard. Perhaps the way that they are approaching her they think she will yell at them. It's a sad day when they have to fear outbursts from those that are to educate them. She wonders if this was how it felt to be Snape at the front of the room and if he enjoyed it or just put up with it. 

“I am alright she smiles.” To reassure them. “Please don't bother getting your books out today. I would like to have a very serious talk with you.”

That causes some glances. She waves her wand and the curtains shut around her. 

“I ask all wands to be put away. If this conversation becomes uncomfortable, raise your hand and wait ten seconds, if whatever it is can not be cleared by explanation then you may leave.” She straightens up. “I wish to discuss what is a question I am sure is on every single one of your minds brought up by the note this morning and the words that are being thrown about because of them. Some of them are considered to be on par with slurs that one would not hear in polite conversation.” 

“Are you going to tell us about the chamber? Ron blurted. “None of the other teachers will even speak of it.”

There are excited and fearful glances at one another at the mention, the most prominent look is wonder. They are curious they want to know more than anything. Her younger self particularly is sitting even straighter in her seat. 

“Mr. Weasley please.” She gestures and he takes his seat promptly. 

“A history lesson perhaps first. Yes, that is where I will start.” She says more to herself than them. Willing her magic to come forward to help her with her tale. “As you know there were 4 founders of Hogwarts. Rumors would tell you that 3 of them got along and one did not.”

There is some murmuring but one dark teacher look and they all quite instantly. “If we are only interested in speculation then I will cut my losses and attempt class.” 

There are vigorous head shakes, none want to miss this once and a lifetime chance. 

“Very well.” She brings back her train of thought, conjuring the pictures of the founders in a fine mist to help with her story. It’s a display of magic that seems to win over some of her Purebloods into at least paying attention. 

“This is simply not true that they did like and love each other.”

Her silhouettes of the character talk and laugh silently as she speaks. The founders' faces turn sour as she makes them start to argue.

“They were like family, and all families argue. Salazar was one of the proudest of the founders. He did have a disagreement on who would be acceptable to their school.”

“Muggleborns.” Her younger self answered the unasked question. Her voice was soft and ashamed. Hermione tears her eyes away from her. 

“Yes, he believed in being more selective in that regard.” 

She spun her hand and the portraits turned to burnings and prosecution. Shadows of fire, and angry people yelling about witches and devils. There were destroyed crops and hangings. Witches and Wizards fleeing and going into hiding. 

“Salazar was worried as all Wizards and Witches of the time would be. Our kind was being persecuted by other religions that thought that we were evil. The school was created so that there would be a safe place for learning.” 

She released the image and the fire consumed the imaginary villages. Witches and Wizards sent their children to Hogwarts. She took great pride in making it detailed. 

“Salazar was quite adamant about protecting them. He did not like the risk that Muggleborns posed to the discovery of other magical people. He worried that Muggles that mistreated their children with gifts that they could not comprehend would make it their job to eradicate others. Obscurus are created by repressed magic, children that will never reach an age past 6. They are created when one needs to repress their magic as they are threatened or hurt for using it. The magic builds and explodes.” 

Her image is of a child screaming and the shadows tearing at them apart. She dares not to use anything other than a few seconds to make her point. Harry looks particularly upset by the image. Ron is looking at Harry with new eyes. Good, perhaps it would serve her old love well to know that the Dursleys were truly monstrous and nothing to joke about.

“The others did not agree with Salazar. While Muggleborns risked those that would not be suited to know about our world, Godric did not wish to leave them to such an unforgiving world untrained.

 _“If one thing was to unite us all it would be Magic, not Blood. No matter where they came from they were to be accepted to Hogwarts if they were willing to abide by our laws and rules.”_ She quotes him. 

That led to her showing Salazar packing his things. 

“The laws of secrecy are meant to protect all those Magical. Salazar was unable to accept these terms. He didn't much like the marriage outside of our kind, Muggleborns however were unacceptable. Losing one of his heirs was the final straw. He quit the school.” 

The mist goes out and there are 3 founders left sitting at the head table. The hat is still on the stool. 

“Now this is where the tale twists depending on rumors. It is said that Salazar made a last defense should he be proven right about Muggleborns. He created a secret chamber in the school to house a monster that's sole purpose would be to eradicate those that would have been a threat to the school and our world. In his eyes the ones that they called in those days Mudbloods.”

She gestures and the castle appears in a layout like a dollhouse. “The castle has been searched naturally, an ancient monster awakening and killing half or more of the population is not acceptable. Nothing has ever been found. This castle though is magical. She has magical signatures and she likes to change.”

“The staircases.” Someone said. 

“Yes, so it is very possible that we can not find it, as it is not meant to be found. Hogwarts herself will not allow it, as it is one of her sleeping defenses in place by one of the most powerful wizards there ever was to exist.” 

She might be exaggerating that a bit, it was just hidden by a bathroom and plumbing done to keep the entrance hidden, but it was not exactly good storytelling props, and most everything else she had said had been embellished but true. She sighs deeply, knowing that this was the harder part. Tackling the main issues she has with this mess. 

“The question boils down to who is the heir of Slytherin and has this person really opened the Chamber of Secrets? I do not think this to be a prank. The other teachers do not wish me to tell you this, but to do so would be foolish. The Chamber supposedly has been opened before. Attacks on Muggleborns in a time that it was politically unfavorable to be one. A terrible dark wizard that many fear was rising to power.” 

It is silent, so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

“Not Voldemort but Grindlewald had sparked hate not for Muggleborns but for Muggles. He inspired Voldemort, and his followers I am sure, sparked already long-running grudges, and soon what was to follow was the most horrific acts of terrorism that the world has ever known. There are reasons that even after his defeat that he still scares all.” 

She doesn’t like thinking of him as that name, she prefers to call him the name he hated as a way to spite him. It increased her chances that he hated her and would come after her, but also made her feel strong to disregard it and encourage others to do the same as a stance against him. Killers and Monsters did not deserve powerful names. They deserved nothing, the victims deserved to be honored. 

“Voldemort killed an estimated 300 individuals. Muggles, Muggleborn, Pureblood, it did not matter. He was destined for Wizard Pureblood supremacy all else, magical creature or person alike was to serve him or die.” 

She shows news headlines, the mark, the missing people reports, the names drift around the room. 

She can see the confusion written on some of the Slytherins faces, she can see disbelief. They have been told otherwise their whole lives. They have grown up on stories of Tom’s greatness and nothing about the horrors that he inflicted. 

“There are those that still believe that his actions were justified. They think that they are set to put those that are not their version of pure in their place. they are justified to condemn them and murder them. There are still Death Eaters that wait for the rise of Voldemort again.”

The illusions dissipate as she sits down. The room is too warm. She feels like she is burning under their looks. This is the most important part, if they are to get anything from her she prays that this lesson will stay with them. 

“And I am hopeful that his slaughter will not ever be allowed to repeat itself.” She pauses to roll up her sleeves a little so they can see the many battle wounds. She wears as badges of honor, marks she has from fighting for children like them, for herself. Even when it felt hopeless. “Unity is the way that we stand or fall, we are all human, we all have magic and are chosen by her. Like Muggles used to like to kill or enslave by the color of their skin. I hope that this racism dies out with Voldemort's generation. If not I will stand against him again and I hope that you will consider doing the same. if not for the wrongness of murdering your fellow man, but for the safety of the magical world. Remember that the secrecy of Magid is a thing that we all must keep. Muggles have developed worse weapons than fire and swords that they may turn against us. This is not to make you fearful of them. But it is the grim reality. Guns and bombs not all of them can be blocked by magic. Muggles outnumber magical people 1000 to 1. If Voldemort brings their attention to us in a negative light. Burnings will be the least of our worries.”

It is like there is breath being held and there is nothing that can be said, no one has left and she doubts that when she repeats the lesson that many will. She looks at them all, with soft eyes. She lets them know that she doesn’t blame them. They might not understand her soft eyes, but she knows that some of them will not have a choice, they were raised by those that took the metal they would be forced into poor positions and it wasn’t completely their fault they did not know better. 

“We will continue defensive spells tomorrow. Please take the rest of the hour for yourselves.” She dismisses them. There are 3 that stay behind. She takes a deep breath as she looks at her friends and the younger version of herself. 

“Professor you fought him?” Harry asks quietly.

“Yes not because I choose to, but because he was violently opposed to my existence.” She turns to her younger self holding out her hand and placing it on her shoulder. “Do not be embarrassed or disheartened for what you are.” 

“I'm not.” Her younger self sets her jaw. “No matter what others say I know that I am not a Mudblood. There is nothing dirty about my blood.”

“We are what we are.” Hermione nods, “We can only change the perception of the word and minds that think it an insult.”

“Are you..?” Ron asked.

“Yes.” She sighs softly.

“There's nothing wrong with being Muggleborn.” Ron says confidently. She smiles at the brave boy that her younger self is looking at with slightly wide eyes. Harry stands there a little awkwardly. He is such a brave boy. Such a kind one. She wished it did not have to happen the way it did in the future, but they all had parts to play. 

“Your mother was one of us. The nicest woman that I ever met, a fire of passion, and skill” She lets go of Granger and lets her hand drop. “There is not a day that I do not wish that she was not here with us. You have her eyes, I am sure people have told you so.”

“They haven’t.” The poor boy has the nerve to look embarrassed. 

“It saddens me to hear that. If you would like to have tea sometime. I would love to know her son better.”

“Thank you,” Harry says meekly. 

She shows them out so she can prepare for her next few classes. She has successfully made it so that Harry will be out late one night to hear the snake without him being in any trouble. Now if she could just get that ghost on her side she would be on a decent schedule. The calendar by her desk tells her she has 5 months till she will be taken back to her time. Nothing like deadlines...

~/*\~

She shouldn’t have been surprised when the staff meeting goes to hell. It's about how to contain this, how to help keep the students safe. It boils down to they want to keep lying. And when it comes out her lesson of the day it just becomes even more divided. 

“I told them the truth.” She folds her arms. “I was not about to lie to them about what could truly be happening. It is always best to be prepared, then be caught unaware. Especially if someone is actually working for the benefit of harmful people to get a foothold in the school. There is enough misinformation out there, I will not lie to them.”

“What possible evil forces would want to harm our students?” Hooch shakes her head.

“The same one that went for your stone stored in the school last year, the same force that has been trying to return for the past 11 years. And if it is not him there are those that are in high positions of power that worked for him at one time, or were at least sympathetic to his cause.” 

“Be that as it may.” Dumbledore cuts in. “The students do not needlessly be riled up over something that could be nothing.”

“Do not brush this off.” She glares at him and the air becomes chilled. “To do so is to allow the chance for other attacks to happen. The chickens are dead, their blood painted the walls, dark magic well beyond most of our students petrified that cat. If you think that they could not do that to a student then you are putting them at risk.” 

“Asterope is right Albus.” McGonagall agreed. “We must treat it as a serious threat.” 

To her surprise, Severus backs the motion. Dumbledore has to bow to his staff. They will increase monitoring and enforce curfews harsher than before. She nearly forgets that there was to be another night of prayers and rituals till she gets back late to her classroom and finds even more students than before at her door. 

“We didn’t know if you canceled or not.” Neville stutters out. 

“I would never cancel on you all, she waves her wand and her office opens. I just had meetings.”

“You didn’t get in trouble for telling us the stuff earlier did you?” Lavender asks.

“Of course not.” She laughs. “You can only get in trouble if you can’t insert your own loopholes to their rules and back it up with logic.” 

The two young Slytherins that had been coming smile at one another. 

~/*\~

She has a knock on her door and she ties her robe over her nightgown. She doesn’t bother to try and fix her hair or put on shoes. 

“We really need to stop meeting like this, people will get the wrong idea.” She tells the dark-haired man that is standing there. His face doesn’t change much considering what she is wearing and her invitation to enter.

“I heard an interesting rumor.” He doesn’t move from the corridor. 

“Did you?” She folds her arms in front of her. “Care to share it.” 

“That you fought against the Dark Lord, and yet I have searched and not found anything on you.” He leans a little into her personal space. 

“Certainly know how to warm a girl up to you.” She turns from him and walks to her small sitting area she had set up near the fire. “I did not fight him like Dumbledore's army nor with the ministry.”

“But you did fight him.” Severus enters warily.

“When his followers are trying to torture and murder a person, one tends to fight back.” She flops into the chair and puts her feet up. Severus looks at her legs a moment before fixing his eyes. He was human after all, though she doubts that he is really interested. “Thank you for backing me up in the meeting.”

He is taken off guard by that. “Every time I think I have you pinned down, you say sometimes that surprises me.” 

“Well you haven't ever pinned me down but it could be arranged.” She smirks as his amazement of her turns to that usual deep frown. “Come now Severus your face will stick that way.”

“Do not joke with me on such subjects.” He says warningly.

“You're taken then?” She calls the teacups to her. 

“No.” 

“Then let me flirt with you dear.” She motioned for him to sit. “And pretend that I have a chance with thee Severus son of Prince the potions master.”

He continues to stand. 

“Humor me.” She sighs, deeply. “You came here for a reason. If that was to weed cryptic answers out of me the least you can do is drink tea with me for them.”

“Very well.” Severus sits and takes the cup offered to him. “At least it is better than the headmaster's set.”

“He made you drink out of those awful eggshell ones too or am I the only honored one to use it.” She raised an eyebrow. 

There is a slight turn of the man's lips. 

“So he can smile.” 

“Don’t push it Belonda.” He glares weakly at her. She seems to be winning the round.

“Asterope, Im allowed to call you your first name you should at least call me mine.”

“I don’t let you do anything, nor does anyone, you simply do.” 

She chuckles darkly. 'He didn’t know the half of it.'


	5. Ghosts

She gets drunk on Friday, after the last section of teaching students she makes her way to the 3 broomsticks and just drowns her disappointments and failures in the form of shot glasses. The second attack despite her best efforts has happened. It is faster than in the original line. She should not be surprised that Hagrid is playing cards in the corner nor that he is the friendly face that attempts to help her off her stool at closing time. 

Such a good man, life had been so unfair to him. Clearing his name this year is important and making sure that he has the option to gain some education out of it and a new wand. She would throw Fudge under the night bus but that wasn't possible. He had to be there for set events in the timeline. She can not risk breaking the loop she has made, she needs it to close after she leaves. 

She almost apparates home when she stumbles out of the bar. Well, the only home that she had for extended periods of time. Gods, she misses her library, her things, the smell of parchment and fading ink. The feel of a good book in her hands. 

The tempting object is also there. The stone... She knows that she should not use it, but in her drunken state, she wants to. She is so lonely. Near everyone that she cares for is dead in her time, and she knows that whatever Voldemort does some time near hers that the world ends. Game over, nothing but a wasteland. Where nothing could save a person but the collection of all 3 Deathly Hallows or time dust that was injected forcibly into the bloodstream. She mutters about Dark Lords, war, and death all the way back to the castle and throws herself into bed. She blissfully looks at the canopy of her bed and fades into a sleep that is just dark for once, not a single nightmare insight. 

~/*\~

The steady knock on her door makes her groan. The pillows are so tempting to lay in forever. The knock comes again. 

"Coming." She rubs at her eyes. 

She waves her wand and makes sure she is decently dressed, and any residue is brushed from her eyes. Godric it was only 11 am on Saturday of days and times. 

"Oh, it's you." Her eyes widened. He had not sought her out for a week so it must have been a new record for him. 

Severus raises one eyebrow. "Don't sound so excited now." His voice rumbles and it's enough to make her feel relaxed. It shouldn't but it does and she smiles. 

"I wouldn't have tried to dress if I had known." He glares at her, but she has a feeling that he is picturing it. "That isn't quite what I meant. I just would not have changed from something similar to your last visit. Godric I am hungover."

She stands aside to let him in, catching the look of another teacher as they quickly retreat around the bend. Sprout would be planting nothing but rumors. Oh well, it's not like it matters all that much. 

"I heard that Hagrid brought you back, not a good look for you." Severus looks at the disarray in her room. He might be concerned as she had books tossed everywhere and a calendar that was mapped out with schedules that only she could read some of the lines. 

"It was a particularly awful day for me." She moves towards her chair. "I don't even know if I picked up tea." She says as an afterthought, she had been buying her favorites and picking out ones that suited her guest’s tastes. She summons the tea stuff and is glad that it comes. 

"Perhaps a potion for hangovers would serve you well." The man still takes his usual seat despite the robe that was thrown over the top of it. 

She flicks her wrist and sends it to the bed, leaning back in her chair to have some breathing room. Her head is killing her. “Are you offering? She does her best to hide her eagerness for it.

“No.” He is smug without even the change in voice or face she can tell, the Bastard.

She pouts in good nature. “It's alright, I do deserve to suffer a little for being foolish.”

The small curve of lips is so faint she decides not to harass him for it this time. "These attacks are getting to you."

“And you are unperturbed, one that seeks my cursed position?” She tilts her head. 

He huffs, “They unease me.” He holds his arms across his chest. 

“But do not frighten.” She suspected as much. She knows that the real evil if it was close the other would feel through the mark. He was licking his wounds in Albania. He would be there for 2 years till Peter decided to play games. 

“I don't frighten easily.” He sounds honest and not bragging about it. 

“I bet.” She is relieved to find that her summoning spell worked and she is able to start the tea. 

“Hagrid did wish to see the headmaster after your visit.” Snape brings the conversation to what he is hoping to achieve. 

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried, is that why you have come to warn me? Seems like you are always warning me.” She makes the water heat itself and Severus watches her spell work. She is quite gifted in charms and transfiguration. She will never be an expert brewer of more than Tea. The man across from her is truly gifted and has an eye for the sort of thing. 

“No, I just found it interesting.” 

The cryptic answer invites her to answer more perhaps even overshare. She humors him and he knows it. 

“I might have been talking about the war. I saw many people die. These attacks set me a little on edge.” She answers honestly. She takes her teacup looking into the liquid, her hammering head making her rest it in her free one. "It makes me think that it is a warning of something worse to come. I don't wish to think about it."

The tea is warm against her fingertips, the brown liquid has little flakes of black from the leaves. The silence in the room is deafening. She had faced silence for what could have been hours, decades, days in a wasteland of a future. And yet she is scared to break it, scared to break the trance that she has put herself into by breathing, feeling her own heart. The comfort of another human in the room is nearly overwhelming. It's always so quiet when she opens herself up. This doesn’t even scratch the surface of the things that she has done in the name of revenge and power to change what is written near in stone. 

The only person that knows half the things she has done is Luna. Dear sweet Luna the most observant in matters of the heart. The only friend she has left in her time and had to run all the way to the far reaches of America to escape the madman that murdered her father in front of her. Voldemort was an evil that cast too long a shadow. 

"I heard things about you from the others. You fought in the war too right. Perhaps you understand." She looks up at him. She offers him a word if he wants it, she gives him a place. She almost wishes he would lie to her and tell her it got better, even though both of them are proof that it doesn't. "I used to need sleep potions every night, I used to drink far more, but I have curbed it in order not to drop to that dark place." 

"What is it that you have heard of me?" Severus is slightly on edge, he is ready for judgment that she will not place on him. Not yet, in another time perhaps. She will fight him someday it is inevitable as he is still close to the madman trapped on the side of Darkness. 

"Just that you were a spy. Playing sides always has losers, as it's impossible to take care of those you care for that are on opposing sides." She answers carefully, tracing the top of her teacup. 

She knows he cares for Draco and the Malfoys to an extent that he does not know how far it goes, but she knows that on the light that Severus had cared about his fellow staff such Mcgonagall, and his love Lily, and perhaps to an extent Dumbledore as he was the schemer and was the only one that he could tell everything if he needed to. 

He is reflective as he takes his drink. "I understand the nightmares and the unease this causes. It raises uncomfortable questions of who is doing the attacks." 

“I already stated my suspicions.” Hermione nodded. “So the question is what will Dumbledore decide to do with the information about what side of the war to come I am on.” 

“That is assuming that you are on a side, there is one to come, and that he cares enough to do something about it,” Snape added tactfully. Such a good spy he was, she wondered if he knew how to turn that survival instinct off of if he was truly looking into her for Dumbledore. 

She smirked. “Observant, aren't you, but you are a Slytherin which I have been told are quite sly.” 

The complement is not questioned or accepted by more than a slightly raised cup to the man's lips. "I don’t think he will do anything."

“I don't trust him.” She plays to the chain around her neck with her free hand. “Though I don’t trust anyone that has a hand in politics.”

“You must not have many friends,” Snape says dryly.

“No, I don't.” She leaves the idea of how war sought to that out. “I do consider you to be one of my few.” 

He shakes his head. “I can not imagine why.”

“You entertain me.” She gives him, “I need more people that can listen to me ramble.” 

“You do like to ramble. It's good to be self-aware.” 

“At Least it's relevant and not about socks.” She takes another dig at Dumbledore. “Or turnips.” She says after reflection thinking about Sprout. She is only pretending to be offended but it has a good effect on the 'older' professor. 

Severus lets out what might be a small puff of air out of his nose. It could be mistaken for a sneeze, but she has a suspicion that he is laughing at her. The fact that he holds back that much makes her chuckle to herself. 

~/*\~

Draco is whispering among his friends as a young Creevey passes him. She intervenes immediately after hearing a slur. 

"Mr. Malfoy, this is not the first time that I have heard you using such language." 

"What language professor?" He asks innocently, trying to look almost harmless and cute. 

Yeah, she would turn over in her own grave before she thought his rat face was cute. She has more hate for him after he followed in his father's footsteps and started becoming the Dark Lords' executioner. The man reminded her of Pettigrew, spineless. He did not what to kill others yet was too fearful of his own demise to push back. His parents were long gone. There was no saving them. not when they were that tangled in, the only way would have been to try to get them to flee and if not cut ties. 

"You know well what I mean." She looks down at him. "I expect a detention with me will help in understanding the casualness you use that word with and the consequence of those that hear you using it." 

"I understand professor." There was the famous Malfoy sneer and little flair of the nostril. "When will this detention be?" 

"Tonight at 8 sharp.” She warns him. 

"Don't you have a club to run then Professor?" Pansy inquires, her voice practically dripping with false honey. 

"Indeed I do. Mr. Malfoy will be accompanying me. He might just learn something." 

~/*\~

Dinner in the great hall was quiet. Severus was late but he did stride in midway through. He sits next to her and misses Mcgonagall's smile her way. She dares not to smile back for the risk of causing Severus to suspect anything. He looked to be in an interesting mood. 

"You're late." She pushes one of the more full plates his way. "Was a bit worried that you were going to starve yourself?" 

He takes it gratefully and places a decent helping of it onto his plate. He has skipped lunch hour and it shows at how he starts eating a large amount in the politest way possible without looking like he is holding down his food. He seems quite happy to take a decent gulp of coffee. 

"Long hours?" She asks, confused that he is having Coffee this late in the day.

"Yes." He pauses mid-chew, swallows, and turns his attention to her. "I had a long talk about a detention you set."

"Which one?" 

"You know the one."

"Ah, the one with young Mr. Malfoy." She taps her chin acting as if she has just come to the proper conclusion. "He is not happy being forced to attend my club for his detention. I take it."

"Why did you select it, would it not be better to just have sent him to scrub cauldrons?"

“I have a purpose in all I do.” Hermione takes a bite of tart. “Hard work such as helping you out suits some students just fine. But I prefer punishments that fit the crime. Forcing him to do something he really doesn't like is only part of my motivation.”

Severus pinches his crooked nose. 

"Think of it this way, the best that happens is he learns something." Hermione balanced her head on her hand. "Worst case he complains some more and at least I tried to expose him to other points of view. He will be more careful about who he calls a Mudblood because of displeasure and who hears him. Both are needed skills." 

"He would not tell me the words that he used, only that he had insulted another student." Severus looks disappointed almost with the way his eyes shift to the Slytherin table. Draco who must have been watching their interactions ducked his head wisely down. 

“Yes, I have a rather strong hate for that word." She doesn't keep the bitterness from her voice nor the deep frown from gracing her lips. 

They return to eating but she can note that Severus has moved his seat ever so slightly closer to her as if it would somehow comfort her or perhaps it was for him. He had injured many like her. His gravest mistake possibly was calling Lily such a thing. 

~/*\~

Her club is surprised to see Draco Malfoy sitting on one of the sofas a few dare to greet him and he glares at them with a look that is much like a mother dragon would have given any intruders to her den. Needless to say, she sits next to him and lets the others take the other seats. Tea is distributed and the different snacks that were suggested by her students each week. She thanks the elves greatly for their help each time she asks them to make a favorite and provide tea she is reminded of Dobby. She hopes Harry will free him.

The club members catch up with one another in their groups that are dedicated to team building and interaction between houses and worlds. Hermione forces Draco into one. She starts them on the topic at hand after about half an hour of chit-chatting. 

"Last week we were in discussions about birthday celebrations across the world. We shared the wizarding one's last week so why don't we talk about some of the muggle ones in order to compare them." 

Draco Malfoy probably hates every second of learning the Happy Birthday song, which is an off-key version of one dedicated to those in the wizarding world that are turning of age as a way to tease them. Time flies as it always does. Hermione enjoys every moment of it. She will miss these small moments. She dismisses the other students and has Malfoy stay. He tried to get out unnoticed but she wants to at least finalize the point. 

"The only other thing I have tonight for you is to think about what you witnessed. I wish you from now on to make sure you are aware of who you are impacting by saying that word and think before you use it. Think about how people will react. You're a Slytherin so you should be careful about burning your bridges and talking behind possible beneficial parties' backs about your seemingly well thought out importance and superiority over them.”

He says nothing his fist is clenched and she knows that she has made yet another enemy in this time. He is still 12 years old though and hardly capable of truly hurting her. 

“You may go now, if I hear that word again from you I will schedule your detentions on days you have quidditch.” 

“Have a good evening Professor.” Malfoy grits out. 

She smiles in fake kindness and watches him leave with a wave. 

~/*\~

The hallway is deserted. There are endless turns to the stairs and tight spaces in the corridor that she finds herself. Hermione is waiting. Patently, among the windows. And suddenly she stands there in the light of the moon, the gray lady. Her pail shimmering ‘skin’ absorbing the night. The wind blows but her hair does not so much as move out of place. She is not an easy appreciation to track down. She avoids everyone and all Ghosts move a bit away from Hermione. 

“Hello.” She greets. “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor, my dear lady.” 

The woman tilts her head, she looks near ready to bolt. And if she faded through these walls there would be no following or way to catch her. 

“It's nothing great. I just know of a girl in your house, she doesn’t have many friends. She is kind and lonely. The other girls tease her and compare her to her father. I was hopeful that perhaps the two of you would be able to connect as kindred spirits so to speak.” 

She hopes by building the friendship between the ghost and Luna that she would be more friendly to talk to. Luna had said she was friends with the ghosts before Ginny and the other students. 

The ghost glides closer. “You remind me of someone.” The voice is too close to her ear. “Someone I have met before.”

“I might.” She tilts her head a little away. She didn't think that she would be recognized by Helena of all people. “It’s hard to say.”

“Yes, you carry that shift in the air about you.” The ghost says to herself. Her eyes widened. “I asked him not to take me…” 

“He is not here,” Hermione says patently. “Though I do have his cloak on me.” 

“The other ghosts warned me that he might be in disguise.” Her voice is a whisper that hurts her head to listen to this close. Those pretty eyes dart about the halls, looking in the shadows and shades of the dim for a being that would not make itself known. 

“I assure you he is not here,” Hermione repeats, knowing full well Death was everywhere and nowhere, he lurked between worlds in every time and loop. He had come to encourage her to take the wand. Tempting morals in a pass time for him. He is not cruel, he is not unfair, he just is. That is just how things were, and he would collect her and the ghosts and all when it was the time to do so. The ghost though sees the shifting of shadow and flees. Hermione sighs dramatically all exhaustion on this task leaving her in a huff. 

She meets the person that made the shadow head-on, her wand raised in a Lumos that could turn to a deadly spell within an instant. The small frame comes into full view. She has tears in her eyes and she looks struck by Hermione’s wand. 

“Professor…” She stutters, brushing back long orange hair. Hermione does not lower her wand, not a fraction.

“What are you doing out of bed Ms. Weasely?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind words and support it truly means a lot.


	6. Echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!

Hermione does not lower her wand, she knows in her heart that Ginny can not control it. She is a victim of all the crimes that Tom Riddle is pushing her to do, but having experimented with the Dark and possession she knows perfectly well that Ginny could turn on her in seconds. She is too young and doesn't have the magical core to fight the strong curses and compulsions that would be on that diary to continue using it. 

Her mind is screaming at her to get the Diary now. Yes, things need to stay in motion but she can always near harmlessly shift events, make false ones. She could make sure they were to find the fake diary that she had planned to leave in this time destroyed. It would still push Dumbledore to look for Horcruxes and keep things set in motion. She has made sure that important things stay placed in the timeline. She would be teaching the same amount of time as Lockhart, she started a club just not dueling. She had been trying to ensure that Luna would meet the Ravenclaw ghost early into the year, even though she seems to be adjusting because of the club better than perhaps she ever would have in the original time. If everything worked out, Harry would break his arm Thursday and they would complete the Polyjuice potion after that. She noted to herself to add extra potion ingredients to Severus's stores. 

"Why are you out of bed." She repeats, she lowers her wand out of an attack but still ready to counter a curse if needed. Ginny looks a little nervous but not nearly as much as having the DADA teacher pointing her wand very close to her face. She probably heard about the last one being connected to the Dark Lord or something, funny that she would fear Hermione.

"I was up in the astronomy tower." She shifts her bag that no doubt has a telescope inside of it and perhaps the thing that she is after. 

"Pass please." Hermione holds out her hand. 

Ginny of course searches herself and quickly pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and places it carefully in Hermione’s waiting palm.

“You are nearing an hour past your extension and far from the astronomy tower.” Her eyes glance over the time slip. “Do you care to explain that?”

‘Please tell me that the diary is on you. Give me a reason to take it.’

She really didn't want to tamper with Ginny Weasley's memories if she didn't have to. She was much better at shielding her mind than trying to manipulate others. She had learned enough to make one or 2 solid memories, enough for someone to truly believe that such a thing happened. Pretty good in holding up should someone poke around, though the more modifying there was... the more unstable it all became and not only likely to cause lasting damage, like she was sure was going on with that poor Muggle at the Triwizard Cup, but be seen through by someone with the right experience of digging. 

“I got into an argument.” The first-year said softly, “I wanted to be alone.”

“It’s dangerous to be out alone, there are attacks going on.” Hermione tactfully presses against the other's mind by making eye contact. She can usually pick up at least surface-level thoughts this way. 

Ginny is scared, she is upset because she fought with Creevy in the astronomy tower about how to best look at stars and map them. She doesn’t want a professor she admires to be upset with her. She likes club nights and defense. She is worried that Tom will be upset with her for losing her house points or getting a detention. 

“I know.” She hangs her head. Her bag sagged and opening just enough to let one of the books topple out. Hermione uses that as the opportunity to check as she slips the book back in. No dairy, she sighs deeply. Ginny at least is not a threat at the moment. 

“I will take you back to the tower, little lion. Don’t fret. We will be having a small detention together and talk about some of the things bothering you. I noticed that your grades are falling, perhaps some assistance will do you some good.” 

So I can get the dairy off of you and help get rid of any compulsions that Tom has tried to weave into you. His talons wouldn’t be easy to remove. Tom was probably one of the only friends Ginny had. He was older, he seemed to understand, he could give advice. 

She turns from Ginny so she can’t see her scowl. 

“Yes professor,” She says quietly and holds tightly to her bag as they make their way towards the Gryffindor dorm. 

“Don’t worry, I am not upset with you. I only care for you. These are dangerous times and want you to be safe.”

“What do you think is causing the attacks?” Ginny walks side by side with her. 

A better question was who, as what was so obvious that she could shake her younger self for not figuring it out sooner. Still, a very twisted thought entered her head, a very manipulative one. It was similar to what Tom no doubt was doing, but Hermione would be prying on her fears to help her. Not harm her and get her to only trust her. 

“A dark magical object.” She answers tactfully. “They can be ‘Riddled’ with compulsions. I think it is a student and they are unaware they are doing it.” 

Ginny nearly stopped walking, but then quickly started again. “How does one get rid of such an object…?” She trails off. 

“They hand it into me so I can take care of it. It’s my job.” 

~/*\~

She goes to the Slytherin and Gryffindor game, taking her seat next to Severus. It's cold and Hermoine watches her breath leave her in long puffs like vapers. The wind howls through the stands, as players whip about. She hates flying but she can respect those that are capable of it. Even older she still worries for those that are hurling so close and at top speeds towards the ground to catch the ball. She prefers soccer and keeping her feet firmly on the ground.

A particularly nasty wind nearly takes her hat off. She would really like a hot beverage right about now. She rubs her hands and holds them against her chest. 

“You did not dress for the weather,” Severus observes unhelpfully.

No, she hadn't purely because it had been a last-minute decision to come based on her students asking it of her. She should have gone and collected better clothing or brought something to transfigure.

“Perhaps.” She shrugs, leaning a little more towards him on the bench. “Be a Dear and block the wind for me?”

“A heating spell would do you well.” Severus doesn't shift away but is not helping in the slightest.

“So would body heat.” She puts her hand closer to his gloved one, keeping her face completely serious.

Minerva coughed and then pretended to be looking elsewhere. If they were working it would be different, she probably would be discouraging the behavior. But outside of work hours and during meals she seemed to be organizing it so that Severus and Hermione could sit together and chat. She would note the way that they would sit at the table and shift depending on where she sat. Always leaving one seat on one side of her.

"Fate." The beetle-eyed prophet whispered to Sprout who did not say anything in response. 

She didn't know about that one, though she was growing fond of interactions with Severus. She liked talking with him, as he seemed to understand her displeasure of subpar students and those that did not apply themselves. She found herself antagonizing him less. There were times though that she could not resist the temptation.

Hermione smiled. “Can fate lend a hand already, Severus won’t take mine no matter how much I flirt with him.” 

Severus huffs and casts a warming spell for her. “There.” 

“Not what I had in mind, she is shoulder to shoulder with him now though with the way that he moved.

The match is a win for the lions. She is happy that Harry is able to succeed against Malfoy even with the harsh opticals. She ends up getting the bludger after it has hit Harry, it's not something even with her skills that she wants to risk, hitting a kid with a spell that would incinerate . So when it goes for a bounce after slamming into the side of his head, she ensures that it never shall be enchanted again. She is sure that Dobby will make himself known again even if Harry is just under observation for any possible head damage. It takes care of some of the leg work as Tom must be working overtime to try and get Ginny’s detention transferred. She was scheduled for Friday with all the excuses that had come up, which is good because the Holidays are coming and she needs to try and get the ball rolling before the last of the attacks before Ginny herself was taken happened. 

~/*\~

Ginny sits across from her in the office chair. She looks tired, very tired. No one should look that thin, nor pale. She curses Tom’s name to hell and back. They talk, Hermione asks Ginny all about her first year and helps her work out some of her fears. She is such a bright good girl. She wants to be liked, she just feels like she is living in the shadow of all her bigger siblings. She is the only girl and they never included her in their games as a child. She wanted friends but came off as too shy most of the time and too abrasive when wound up. She admits to having the biggest crush that there ever was on Harry Potter. He is the Wizarding savior but also the boy that made her brother feel appreciated, and spent the summer over at her house and stood up for her Father. 

She brings up an older friend that is kind to her, but a little controlling. She begs Herminoe for advice to help this boy that feels trapped, has always been alone, and she can’t give as much time to him as he seems to need. But he is her only friend, even though he sometimes makes her feel small, inadequate, and agrees that her brothers don't spend time with her. 

Hermione kindly makes hints that the relationship she has with this older boy is not healthy, that he can not be allowed to monopolize all of her time; she needs to have time for her own hobbies and interests. She encourages her to spend time with her family, let them know how isolated they sometimes make her feel, and insists that they love her deeply. Even if they tease her, and especially in Fred and George's case. The detention ends not closer to her having the diary in hand, at least there were fewer complaints on the girl by her drinking some of the tea. Tom probably wouldn't expect a professor to drug a student that he had possessed. Especially her with her seemingly nice and inclusive nature.

There was a solution…. But she did not want to resort to it. She did not use the imperious curse on people. She refused to have someone feel helpless like that. Unless they truly deserved it and children were exempt from that. The only hope was to catch Ginny off guard with the book, and Tom would have to be more crafty, more charming than ever to keep Ginny from handing it over. He had warped her perception of the world, groomed her well over the past 2 and a half months. 

She rubbed at her face. 

~/*\~

Harry Potter after his accident was cleared and a day of playing catch up with other teachers decided to grace her with his presence. She at first thinks that it might be because he has saved her work for last, but the idea dies by the way he looks. She knows when Harry looks troubled having spent her childhood with him. She had mentioned to Snape to take it easy on the poor boy as he had been concussed. Severus did not take well to the recommendation. He was nowhere near kind to Harry, but she could tell that he did not go out of his way to cause issues for him any longer. She really hoped she wouldn't have to snip at the professor later. Even if She honestly would take anything over the torment that she had suffered under Snape’s wrath in her childhood. The things he said and did to her was nowhere nearly as nasty as he had been to Harry. Any good influence that she can be on him for dealing with his students was positive.

“Hello Harry, wonderful to see you.” She makes her face and posture as welcoming as possible.

“Professor.” He dipped his head. “I was wondering…” 

“Yes, dear?” She tilted her head.

“I was wondering if you would let me hide here for a bit.” 

She blinked, slowly. She had offered the office as a safer place to be if there were things bothering students. She did not expect Harry to use it but she is pleased to see him trusting her.

She raised an eyebrow recovering quickly. “You're free to spend time with me, but may I inquire what the brave Harry Potter is hiding from.” 

Harry flushed. “Well there was a snake loose in the dungeons I guess it got out of the potions storage room and I talked to it and now the whole school thinks…” He trails off.

"That you are the heir of Slytherin or something?" She snorts pushing the chair out with her foot. "Sit Potter, know that for a fact I know that you are not the one that is behind the attacks."

Harry sighed deeply in relief. 

"I know that school will be on edge for a bit and that it will not be easy, but continue to be brave Harry, they will come around. People are very fickle when they are scared and they do and say things that they do not mean." She continues, "but if you do need a place to stay away from them my office is always open even if I am teaching you are welcome to sit in."

Harry has taken his seat. "Really?"

It sometimes amazes her just how much children are appreciative of small things that should have been granted to them, seeing actions of basic humanity as kind. The world really was a twisted place. She is almost grateful to Voldemort for murdering the Dursleys.

"Really." She nodded you might make a good teaching assistant, or could learn some things from the upper classroom. She picked up her quill. "Now I need to grade and you have an essay for my class to start."

Harry smiles gratefully and pulls out his supplies. An hour ticks on and Harry looks up a few times in that time to look at her. He averts his eyes every time as if begging to ask her something with his eyes but lacking the ability to actually ask.

“Do you have something you wish to ask?” She rests her hand a moment. 

“I was wondering, you know that I'm not behind it so you must have some idea who is behind it. “

She considers him. “Little Lion, I know who the heir to that line is and that the line ends with him.”

Or it will when she gets around to plunging a couple of basilisk fangs into some very important objects. Voldemort having children is not something that she can imagine, nor wants to. It disgusts her to a level that is beyond nauseating. They would be killed as they would be seen as a threat to his power, or be the most manipulated, soulless, molded, monsters that the world had ever seen.

“And.” Harry licks his lips, “who is this person?”

“Voldermort of course Harry." She notices how his eyes darken, he hates him, and with good reason. "He was quite proud of his bloodline, most Purebloods were thrilled with the idea that the great ancestor of Salazar would bring back their age and traditions. I make the inference that because you were marked by him, that he and you share a connection. There is no other reason that you can speak to snakes.”

Harry reaches up and touches his scar and she looks to the paper in front of her. She has the overwhelming urge to tell him that she is sorry. So very sorry that Voldemort wins, that he kills Harry twice. She is sorry that things will have to play out till her time the way that they have or close to it. He must have noticed her sad eyes because he hunches a little in on himself. 

“Harry.” She motions him closer to the desk and Harry scoots his chair in a bit more to be closer. “Life has been most unkind to you. I am sorry, so very sorry. A burden unlike any has been put on your shoulders as a symbol of the wizarding world. I know… I know that it is not what you wanted.” She feels tears slipping a little out of her eyes and she lies to cover herself and why she would seem to care so much. “I know it's not what lily would have wanted either. She loved you so very much Harry.”

She tells Harry stories of Lily from her childhood. She has seen Snape's memories and a few others including slughorns. She knows many things about Lily and Harry is so happy to just hear about the family he has never known and she wishes that was not the case. She wishes that he could know them. She wishes that they could be with him to tell him these things. But to meddle that much with time could end the loops, it could cause unfathomable damage with hundreds dead as Voldemort might not have been forced into early retirement in the first war.

A knock startles her out of a small story of the time that Lily had made an enchanted goldfish. “Severus…” She stops mid-sentence and Harry’s green eyes shift quickly to the professor. His smile falters and he looks at the man with contempt upset that this man has stolen some precious time from him. 

The man heard something, she just is not sure how much. Her door had been open and she is sure that he has just announced himself. She clears her throat. “Did you need something Harry and I were talking about, a dear friend of mine?” 

She has to act like she didn't know he knew Lily, but she can see the way his body reacts ever so slightly to the thought, to remembering, to knowing what he did about her and Harry.

“No.” The man quickly leaves, his robes billowing out behind him. 

She signs deeply. “Yet another thing to deal with.” 

Harry blinks at her. “ Sorry?”

“It's not your fault Harry, he is a rather sensitive man.”

"Not exactly what I would call it," Harry mutters

Hermione smiles as he seems to catch himself. "He does leave a lot to be desired personality-wise. He has had a hard life, I think I can relate to him in that way. Even if I do not show it the way that he does.”

Harry tilts his head and she catches herself before she can say anything that would complicate things even more than they needed to be.

"Let's not talk of Severus. I have been meaning to ask you, Harry, can you see from the seat that you sit in?" She diverts the conversation so that she does not have to talk about snape. 

"Not really,'' Harry admits.

"How old are those glasses?" She takes a deep breath, knowing that she has never cared to ask before and fearing the answer.

"A couple of years…"

"Up, up we're heading to Pomfrey. I will not have you be a target because you can’t see anything in tomorrow's lesson." She stands and motions him to follow her. "I think you will perform a lot better if you can read the boards in classrooms." She adds as an afterthought thinking about how much Snape would write in his neat handwriting across the board.

Pomfrey can not stop ranting about how bad Harry’s eyesight was the next day at the staff meeting. She is particularly upset that Dumbledore had not informed her that Harry was not only missing Wizarding shots but also needed glasses alterations.

Hermione had not even meant to move that pawn around but she really had shaken the med-witches faith in the headmasters and even the head of the house's ability to make proper check-ins with their students. Severus shared a look with her, but she played it off as if she knew nothing about the situation nor that she knows that he wants to talk to her. 

~/*\~

Severus corners her. She knew that he would. It was only a matter of time. He was eyeing her in the halls even as she had skipped meals. It was not that she feared Snape of all people anymore. She was not 11 years old and watching him for indications of approval only to be disappointed or snapped at. No, she had outgrown her fear of most things. It was going to be a hard conversation to maneuver herself in and she particularly did not want to have it. So she may have been putting it off but perhaps for a little bit, her friend was too.

He catches her at a rather poor time too, the runes that she is applying to transfigured pieces of her clothing. Her arm is on display and she knows that he sees the marks that line it. There are many that were because of curses but some were self-inflicted. The dust that is inside of her blood can heal most things, regenerate it back to the time there was no damage there. It left traces though, scars that without her charmed Slytherin locket just might show the golden lines.

"You do know these are my personal quarters." She snaps at him. "That means that you should not enter them without permission."

He ignores her justified anger and comes closer taking in all the marks and she folds her arms in an attempt to hide the largest of all. The action does no good as he has breached the gap between them.

"Who are you?" He asks seriously. "every time I think I have figured out a puzzle piece and put it in place another comes and disrupts the whole thing."

She leans against the small table that she uses as her desk. "Who do you think I am?"

"I am not in the mood for your hypothetical, philosophical questions nor your metaphors."

“You know my name. I am just me. I don't know what else to tell you.”

“What has brought you to the point for you to seek employment here at Hogwarts? You have the credentials to do much better jobs.” He insists.

“So do you.” She says simply.

“What makes you rush into helping to build unity, foreshadow what is to come, know so much about students that you have only known a few months?”

“I listen and am onservent.”

“It’s more than that.” He is nearly a foot away. So close that he could easily reach out and touch her. “Tell me.”

She is not intimidated but she certainly feels defensive.

“Explain how you know Lily and what you did in the war.”

“You want to know!” She snaps. “Do you really? Because you care or because you seek to tell others my little secrets as you have called them? I don't have to explain myself to the likes of you. You are just as secretive and reclusive.”

He is taken back by her anger as Hermione has never openly shown it. 

“Asterope.” He says her fake name so sweetly so painfully. It has to be a trick. Godric she doesn't want it to be.

She can not help but look into those eyes and while there is no push against her shields she has, she wants someone to talk to, trust. He seems to get it and her unspoken need. He takes her hand in his and she feels that warmth of human touch. She can't think of the last time that she had felt it. Was it really Luna before she had left?

How many years has she been alone? 

She lets out a shaky breath and lets him turn her arm to see the mark she carries. He traces the words with his masterful hands that she has seen prepare the most complex and amazing potions. They are so gentle, kind almost, and hesitant. They are hands that have done things like hers, that are soaked with blood, regrets, and self-hate.

Mudblood. It's the scar that will not fade nor that day. It is her fault. Dobby could not take them all. Ron had been left with the goblin and she knew that their deaths would be wasted. She had no good way into Bella's vault nor what inside could be the cursed object she seeks. Harry would leave her soon after. Many would follow her resistance and the Order of Phenix into an early grave.

She feels her eyes watering and she bites her lip hard to get a grip on herself. Severus was stranded in her time on the other side. He is someone she has avoided confrontation with. He wouldn't show her mercy, she knows it well. The order was over and Severus had to protect himself. A slip in loyalty would be the end of him, Voldemort was such a paranoid bastard. 

"I am sorry." He tells her. She is not sure why he is apologizing.

Such a strong man like him never did. She can't remember any time he has ever said that word in the history of this line and another. He has shifted to hold onto her, cautiously and she wonders if he had ever done this for Narcissa. Maybe he is apologizing for the things that Death Eaters have done to her, or for Lily. Maybe both. 

"You carry one as well." She says quietly, "one that shows mistakes and things that are too painful to talk about." She places her hand on his arm.

"You should hate me." Severus looks at her in understanding.

"I don't. I know all about regrets." She relaxes into the awkward hold. "I blame myself for Harry's predicament. I blame myself for being unable to stop _Him_ from slaughtering hundreds. Her breath is against his neck and his hair tickles against her nose. "I have done horrible things."

He takes a sharp breath in. "I have as well." His grip tightens on her.

She looks into those dark eyes, they are a sea. She could get lost, and perhaps she already was. She could indulge a little while she had a few months. Then this made-up person had to disappear. They could not exist anymore. She would leave him heartbroken and perhaps herself. Fucking Trelawny might have been right a second time... 

This was a horrible mistake, but she lets her lips touch his. She kisses him like a person that is starving, devouring chap lips with her own. She pulls only a little way to judge his expression and it matches hers. A need for companionship, love, longing. 

Hermione doesn’t even know if he is going to use this against her for sure. She knows he will be even more interested in finding out her secrets. The board had shifted again and this time she didn’t have a clue where Severus fell upon it. 

~~~~~~****~~~~~~

Something wet hits old parchment. It smells of salt and the page absorbs its moisture. The girl hunched over holding a quill tightly between her fingers. Ink staining her hand as she tries to resist marking the page. She knows better, her teacher has warned her. It makes little difference, unless she has the journal there is no way to take away all the enchantments. 

𝒯𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ, 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓌ℯℯ𝓉.  
𝒟ℴ𝓃'𝓉 𝒸𝓇𝓎.  
𝒲ℯ 𝒹ℴ𝓃'𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓉𝒾𝓂ℯ.  
𝒯𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ 𝒾𝓈 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓀 𝓉ℴ 𝒷ℯ 𝒹ℴ𝓃ℯ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom will be coming soon! 
> 
> I am so happy to read all comments and thoughts! Thank you, keep theories coming :D


	7. Changing Circumstances.

Hermione has not been looking forward to the Winter holidays. Yet they came regardless of her dread of them. It came with trees being brought in from the forest, transfigured pretty ornaments, and fake icicles that were hung from the ceiling. The weather had turned colder, and snow-covered the grounds. Her students came in covered in light dustings, with wet boots that squeaked across the floors. There was spirit to be had, and the excitement of a nice break for the holidays. Hermione did not feel it. Severus had been visiting more than before. He in a sense kept her warm, even if they were cold to talking about their pasts. He knows better to press her, and she knows better than to lecture him on some of his rather terrible teaching methods coming towards finals. Honestly threatening to poison his students to get them to take making the antidotes seriously. Tea times and soft-spoken words while grading papers has helped her to fight off the horrible doubt and crushing guilt that she feels, knowing that in a few weeks another attack will happen. It's always a waiting game when she decides to meddle with time. This though is the most time she has ever bargained for. It will be all worth it once she has the Diary in her hands. 

The waiting is getting to her though, so She throws herself into making her exam a practical one, open notes, and an assessment of application vs. memorization. It will probably do her no favors when it comes to the actual assessment of her teaching. They like good results the school board, and a situation where nearly everyone passes and is not considered dunderheaded Trolls. It is hardly her fault that not everyone could pass, some people had to be left behind for the good of the rest of the class, held back or something. It's amazing all things considering that Snape hasn't had more accidents. The older ones that could not do basic cooking were experimenting with dangerous potions that could do more than melt cauldrons. In her class, the ones that could not do basic shields somehow had to produce at least a vapor form of a Patronus. She has no hope for some of them. Honestly, she doesn't. Severus tells her to let it go. Not to stress over their failures and incompetence, they in no way reflect her capability to teach. She has had the highest grades of students going into a final than the last 20 defense teachers. He finds her too forgiving to them, too full of second chances, and too lenient on grading. She has nothing to worry about, and yet she does. Oh, she does. She wants them all to succeed in some sort of form. But as the week arrives. She has a feeling she will not be giving out a lot of O's most thought would at least be Exceeds expectations. 

Still even with all that she is trying to accomplish and is there to help distract her. The holiday season seeps in like a potent poison making her chest heavy. She has so many memories, so many wonderful ideas on how Christmas was supposed to be. She just can't force that emotion and that drive of spirit back. She can not go back to the happier times of the year no matter how she wishes, those times are long over for her. Her younger self is the only one that can enjoy them. She is older, and she can no longer see the pretty lights, snowflakes, and feel a sense of wonder, spirit, or home. She has spent them all on the run since what would have been her seventh year. All the family that she has ever known is dead. All homes she has ever stepped foot in for the holidays are ruins, burned down in search of her. Voldemort took a sick twisted pleasure in ruining people's holidays by prolonging executions to line up when people or families would have been celebrating. He brought them the 'gift' he called it of Death. 

So in short she hates Yule, though is trying not to be so much of a grinch about it. Even Severus to an extent likes the holidays if not for the sole reason that he doesn't have to grade papers or watch over so many students. Her club is particularly excited about the winter party that she will be hosting for those that are to be stranded at the school building. She can tell that Harry is excited about it. Everyone is really with a secret Santa, a promise of treats, good food, and all the seasons most terrible single Christmas, Yule, and other hits. 

~/*\~

"Do you have any winter plans besides this party you insist on having?" The soft rumble says close to her. 

She glances up from her grade book. She had not even heard him come in. Severus had a way of being near-silent, even when it was slipping away in the night after an activity or two. Nothing had reached the point of sex, but it was still intimacy. It is the closest that she has allowed herself to get to someone in a long time. It's hard to stop herself if she is going to be completely honest. There is little holding her back, besides her possible emotional state when she returns to her time. 

"No. I have no family to speak of there is no point in heading home." The word tastes sour in her mouth. There is no home, she has never really had one but this castle. 

"We are the same in that regard." He says it carefully enough, both of them walking on their own eggshells. 

She wonders if it's is true, she has never cared to know if Severus's abusive father was dead or his mother that had looked on had passed away, offed herself, or was murdered by the abusive man she shackled herself to. She doesn't know if he counts Draco and the Malfoys to be that close to himself, or if they are just people he considers necessary to associate himself with. His mother perhaps did not deserve to be alone if she was still alive. She wouldn't want to find herself in that position, though Hermione would have killed any man that had treated her that way. Perhaps that was her slippage of morals or just because she had learned to protect herself by any means necessary and that meant sometimes doing things that were unpleasant. Sometimes she took some enjoyment in it, though not much. All of it in the future is a chore and out of need or convenience. One less Death Eater piece of trash the better same went for abusers of any sort really. 

"So you have plans for the two of us then, you would not bring it up without reason." She puts the quill down so that she can spin in her chair to take him all in. One could only try to guess what he had up his sleeve, but if she would guess it would be the weakness of attraction and furthering their relationship. He blinks a moment at her bluntness before smiling a little, it's only more smug than anything, looking her over and she rolls her eyes, guessing what he is implying. 

Things had escalated rather quickly, hadn't they? He was giving her an out though, letting her come up with alternatives. She didn't need them. "If you want to engage in such actions. I recommend Christmas itself. I have a party to host and will be starting planning out the rest of my lessons."

He takes note of her tone, knowing better than to try and sway her from trying to plan. "It would be more than those such actions." He huffed, good-naturedly.

"The romantic type." She laughed softly, standing to get closer to him, touching his slightly greasy hair to help straighten it. He can not help it, the potion fumes all day did this to it and tangled it something awful. "Who would have thought."

"If you are to make a big deal of it perhaps I should call it off." He leans closer to her, accepting her advances, and taking that as a sign that he can touch her shoulder and pull her closer to himself.

He smells of flame, wood, parchment, and iron. She leans back a little so she can press a small kiss there on his lips. "Oh I want to make a big deal of it. Can you imagine the student population if they saw us leave the castle together?" He hits her with a dark look that melts pretty quickly because he can' keep it there when she brushes her fingers lightly up his arm. "Oh come now, us dating is a topic that is already out there. We spend a lot of time together even if half of them are very foolish, they can put that one together." 

"And I appreciate the time." He sounds very sincere and she feels that slight tugging in her chest. She can't fall for him. She wants to screw her head on correctly, shake herself, and berate her heart all at the same time. Yet his voice rumbles through him, gently, calmly, quite serious again, "I do not want it flaunted around the school."

"You don't want them to know you have a heart you mean." She sighs. "It's all as well. I do like being the only one to receive it."

You are going to hurt him deeply. Her mind tells her as she lets him press another kiss to her lips. You can not spend more time than what was bargained for. She shuts her eyes and lets the feeling of warmth cloud her judgment. She had a feeling that the Reaper was laughing at her. 

~/*\~

"Big weekend plans?" Minerva watched Hermione rush about her classroom. Stacking papers with her wand and sending things to their proper locations. She has all of the tests graded, entered, ready to pass back. She will be taking this weekend to get everything done that she needs to. 

"Well, it is the first weekend of break. there is so very much to do. I have so much to grade that and well I thought that I had better get a gift or two." She admits breathlessly to her old head of house. 

"Would one of them be to Severus?" The older woman watched her knowingly."

"Perhaps." She wiped her hands on one of the washcloths, to try and get the remaining ink off her hands. "Though I have no idea what to get such a person."

It was truly something that she had never seen herself ever trying to accomplish. Severus of all people! She was friendly and in a relationship with a past Death Eater, a spy, and someone that she knows would kill her on sight in the future timeline. Worse things could have happened, she was not going to let her little happiness die with the thought of repercussions of such actions. 

"You are not going for a gag gift?" Minerva raises an eyebrow and pretends to be surprised that Hermione has come to care about the one that she used to annoy so greatly. 

"No, I do wish it to be somewhat meaningful." She sighs thinking it over. "I know that it's late in this season but I am sure I can find something useful. I can always add details and tailor it."

"Yes, I suppose you can." Her smile is contagious. 

"I already picked yours out." Hermione smiled. 

"I think I would settle for a day to discuss theories and have tea." The woman jokingly tells her, having no idea what the strange Defense teacher could have gotten her. 

"Good thing I got you more tea leaves then." Hermione squished her fears.

~/*\~

The yule party is quite the fun event even though there are fewer members than there usually was due to them heading home to their families. Hermione makes sure that all the students have chances to write cards to Santa, and exchange them between themselves. There are traditional foods from all over and a winter forest that she has made out of hundreds of over twining evergreen branches covering nearly all of the ceiling to her club office space. Each branch has lights that burn bright like fireflies and hang many ornaments of gold and silver the colors that can unite the houses. She has a few hidden mistletoe spots and a clearing for 2 larger Christmas trees that all the gifts are hidden under. Severus has come to help 'supervise', his words not hers. But she has a feeling he has come purely to make sure that some of the older traditions are upheld and that his house was not bullied by any others. Not that Hermione would have allowed that to happen. The music drowns out some of the talking, she has made sure there is a mix of both Muggle and Magical so there is quite a bit of random that none seem to mind too much. There are other teachers, of course, she has invited any that wish to come and had open-door access, but those that were not normal guests would not be getting any of the gifts that she had placed under the trees. 

"Fred and Goerge. If you even think to slip whatever that is tucked into your robe pockets into my punch bowl I will make sure that you have detention the first full month of the semester." She watches both of them with calculating eyes as they wisely make the correct decision not to play their prank. 

"How did she know?" She hears them whisper to amgust themselves as she slides to the desert table. 

"Are you having a happy Christmas Harry?" She asks kindly. He is standing alone and safely away from any of the mistletoe and moving decorations. 

He nods. "I got your card, I have not opened the small gift yet." He has it tucked under his arm, he is earnest about being excited and happy about his gift. 

"I would have thought you would sneak a peek a little early, but self-control is a nice thing and I am hopeful that you will like it. I am sure that you will find meaning in it. Perhaps not this year but the next." She watches his pretty green eyes and wonders if Severus can see it now. He has the likeness of wonder and passion. She cares so deeply for him. 

Maybe he wouldn't understand right away, the small pair of dear figures wouldn't mean too much now. But when he knew his Patronus, then when they moved around the small container together with her enchantment he would understand. She is about to leave when she sees her younger self coming towards Harry dragging Ron that in his typical fashion was stuffing his face. She can't help but chuckle to herself at the look of him and his stacked plate. Such simple times, oh to be young...

"You need to try these, mate." He shaved the plate towards Harry, took one of the cookies off the top, and nibbled off the tip. He nods excitedly to Ron that it tastes good and Ron looks far too pleased with himself. 

"Ah Granger, did you peek inside your gift from the club early?" Hermione takes her eyes off of him. It still hurts a little to see the both of them. It is better she lets her attention drift to something else. 

"I confess that I have..." The lioness is red in the face with the embarrassment of breaking such a universal rule of Yule. 

She knows herself too well. "And?"

"I am excited to read it. I never knew there were so many different books published on the celebration of old holidays and proud traditions of magical peoples and creatures." 

"May that knowledge serve you well." 

She makes her rounds and interacts with all of them. Most got small things like books, candy, or a knit scarf or hats as she has the skill to create pretty much anything after all the knitting she had done for SPEW. She really hopes that her younger self will not waste her time. Being friendly and treating elves with respect was important, trying to change their culture would just provide insult. Building some relationships with goblins would be useful as well. She hoped her younger self had enough sense to greet them properly now and in turn with their holidays wishes them well. 

She bids them all a wonderful night and waves them off. There is quite a mess of leftover food and wrapping paper. She vanishes everything that is not a decoration. sitting back in one of the wicker benches that she has borrowed. Severus takes a seat near her, they are the only ones left apart from a few other staff members that are slow to goodbyes at the door to her room.

"I didn't think it was possible for such different people, houses, and groups to interact and not have an incident." Severus watches Sprout laugh about the mistletoe over the door. They all were talking loudly about heading out to the bars to celebrate with a bit more of a punch. Hermione considers it. She has not drunk since her last incident nearly made her late to her own class. She supposed if she dragged Severus he could provide the needed potions. But some alone time for a moment might be nice as well. 

“Ye of little faith.” She takes his hand, curling her fingers to grip his lightly. 

“I don't wish to make a joke of it. It is more than I have seen anyone do before.” 

“I want them all to learn about one another, a chance to understand.” She knows what he means. She sometimes feels alone in her struggle.

“You act like you know it will not last.” His eyes stare into hers. He has been studying her for the past month. He sees her shifting moods and thoughtful eyes. His hand is confronting as it puts pressure on her own. 

“You know it can't.” She looks towards the window sill where her candles stay lit in remembrance and to honor those that can not be there. The ones that hang and were murdered for daring to have wishes for the future. They flicker with the small crack of cold air that slips past the window’s frames. 

If she closes her eyes she can see the light shift to the burning castle, and Harry, sweet, Harry dead on the ground next to Hagrid. 

“Peace never lasts. He is trying to come back and it is only a matter of time before he succeeds.” She has resigned herself to that fate. She can not change it. There are certain liberties not even bargaining with blood and time can buy. 

“You do not know that for sure.” 

She looks at him and shakes her head. “You worked at one time close to him. You know that he is relentless.”

“Even with then, there is no way of knowing.” He doesn’t even sound like he believes himself but at least he is trying. 

She just sighs. “This isn’t something we should spend the holiday thinking about.” 

She sure as hell doesn’t want to think about the past. 

“Have you seen it?” He is looking at her with new eyes as if he has finally put the right piece together. 

He has finally come to think that she perhaps is a seer and that It is the closest thing that she can be without her being a time traveler. It helps explain the holes in everything. She will let him think that. She lets him hold her closer and she leans into him. She is going to miss this, she is getting too comfortable with him. She closes her eyes and breaths softly trying to control herself. 

“I have seen it. I will not be here when it does.” She says it so softly she isn’t sure he will hear her. “I have seen him come back.” 

“So you have seen yourself die?” His hold becomes a bit tighter and she can tell that she has scared him. But even with doing so, she wants to talk about what she can with him. She needs to get it out somehow. It curls in her chest, painful, and makes each breath painful. 

“I have seen myself die in many ways. Many people here, many students, staff, my friends that I make.” It comes out near robotic, she can’t give it the proper response to that. How does one even vocalize that amount of loss? 

“You are waiting for us all to die.” He has the nerve to sound like he understands that pain. Maybe he does… Maybe he does because he has lived through war times. Severus she thinks… 

Godric what has your life been like? Why are we so alike? 

“I am trying to sidestep that outcome. It's not something that I have figured out yet.” She tries to put it into words that she has some hope, that she has not given up yet. That is becoming harder and harder of a thing to do.

“It doesn’t have to fall on your shoulders alone.” 

And that is the kindest words she has heard in a long time. 

They head to Severus’s chambers. He has never really hosted her, but he has a nice fire, and she sits down next to it feeling the warmth. They drink and she drinks far too much and encourages Severus to overindulge as well. He humors her and they make a game of it. Swapping stores and discussing theory, and laws of magic. They stay up far too late into the morning drunk and too tired to think straight. Till they both are forgetting every single inhibition that there is. Hermione forgets that it's a horrible idea, to do more than snog the man senselessly, and he seems to forget about being a sensible gentleman. 

She ends up spending the night with him. Whatever plans that were for Christmas she rearranged by taking part in acts sooner than what was perhaps expected and staying wrapped up together far past when an average teenager would have gotten up. They spend the day in Severus’s chambers just enjoying each other's company reading, and listening to the radio. 

He convinces her to spend another night, by trailing a few kisses in all the right places. It's not a mistake she tells herself when she is contemplating leaving him after he had fallen into a deep sleep. She can’t regret it. She runs a hand through his hair as he sleeps and pulls at her hip. But she can miss it when it is no longer an option.

~/*\~

She hands back finals and insists on inspecting Ron’s wand and any that failed. She writes a few letters home concerning his performance based on the broken magical object. Honestly, she can understand that Molly is upset with her son but she is sabotaging his future for the sake of punishment. She similarly writes home to Neville and Crabbe and Goyles families when hearing about the traditional wands they are using versus ones that would suit them well. She might have been helping future Death Eaters but she didn’t think it would give them that much of an edge and Severus was grateful just for the chance there would be a slight improvement in his class by her actions. 

The next month ticks down and she is not closer to the Ravenclaw ghost than she was before. The only plus is that Luna seems to have been winning her over. She has at least learned how the other has died. The ghost of Slytherin's house now has a much darker meaning behind the nickname bloody and explained why Peeves was so scared of the ghost. 

~/*\~

The next attack happens out of the plan and then young Hermione Granger ends up in the hospital wing to make 4 victims. And despite her insistence that there was no way that Hagrid was capable of this the minister still takes him away. Severus can not understand her extreme anger over the situation other than he knows as well that Hagrid is not capable. The man isn’t the brightest Lumos, but what her dear friend lacks in sharpness, he makes up with heart. He is one of the kindest, loyal, and bravest people that she knows. 

Harry and Ron survive their encounter in the forests, and Hermione proceeds to go on a warpath trying to go out of her way to protect the students. She knows what is to come, as the weeks trickled down. She knows that Ginny will be taken. Severus puts up with her hostility because he thinks she is enraged about the possibility of the school being closed and takes it as a sign that her visions are to come true. He is not foolish enough to think that she is bothered by the removal of the headmaster like so many others. 

She pours herself a strong drink, downs it, and pours a second. Minerva is the brave one to visit her in this state. She has chased the others off and her students. It's one of her last nights in the past, and she can’t think of a better way to prepare herself for the long road ahead. 

“It's not your fault this last attack, you did all that you could Asterope.” Minerva breaks the silence. 

“It is not like it did anything.” She turns the bottle over in her hands. Her emotions were raging. She knows this feeling well. It's a poison, the drink of hatred, not just a single emotion, a cocktail of bitterness, rage, sorrow, misery, betrayal, envy, shaken and stirred. All mixed together to make the fuel for vengeance she supposes that she will be having soon enough. 

“It makes all the difference, that you have placed so much care into saving those you can and stood up for those without a voice.” The old woman moves the shot glass away from her. “Things will get better, they always do.” 

She says that now, and she would see it better for a time. Then Voldemort would return and she doesn't have much time. Her deal will expire soon. Death would love for her to cut another one with him. He so loves these types of games, he always wins by the end of them no matter the steps one can try to take around him. 

~/*\~

 **_Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever_ **

The blood-red writing drips from the walls. It's the only invite that she needs. She waits patiently for Harry to open the chamber and then proceeds to follow them down into the depths as she had been unsuccessful in opening it herself. 

“Lumos.” She lights her wand and feels the skeletons of hundreds of rodents crush under her feet. It's amazing that there were so many of them, and that it had been able to sustain such a large monster? What did that say about the state of the school? 

“Professor?” Harry turns shocked that she has come after him. 

“This is as far as you both go.” She instructs them. They both cautiously point their wands at her. “Oh for the love of Godric Gryffindor. I came here to make sure that you both don’t get yourselves killed. 12-year-olds fighting against Voldemort and his basilisk. Use your brains and do the math on how you think that will work out? Now if you would, Harry please open this door for me.” 

She can feel the enchantments and doesn’t have the time or energy to get past them all. It was best to just have Harry get her to where she needs to go. She had tried that already in the bathroom to no avail. She did not want to risk blasting the place apart. She knows little about the structure’s soundness and will not risk being crushed. The large skin near her tells her all that she needs to know about the monster that was down here. 60ft long at the very least. She points again towards the vault door. And Harry finally does as he is asked and hisses, she does her best not to flinch at the sound. The snakes slowly pull themselves back and the door starts to open. 

The large opening gives way to a place she has never seen before. It smells of mold and the damp. She goes first. Cautiously waving her wand around in front of her, sending lights to brighten the space. Ginny lies face down on the tile in front of a large statue that looks like a broken-off head. The hole where it’s mouth is perfect for a snake to hide in. 

Harry and Ron being children rush forward and she yanks them back with magic and away from the spot that Ginny lies. 

“Ginny…” Ron says desperately and looks at Hermione in desperation, and possible betrayal. She sends them back through the door. “Stay.” She roots them in place. “And close your eyes if you see movement.” 

They would be safe over there, the snake was certainly near Tom and Tom would not leave his prize Ginny alone till the process was complete. She moves forward, listening to every crack and shift of pipes and water. It's cold down here, she has no idea how the snake is not sluggish by the lack of warmth. 

“Where are you?” Hermione ignores the protests of her students. “I have been playing your games all year and would really appreciate it if you were to show yourself so that we can get this over with.”

Tom Riddle shifts from the shadows, his form is not yet completely solid, but he is close. 

Harry lets out a surprised gasp. “Tom, what are you doing here?” 

The dark eyes shift from watching Hermione to Harry. “We meet again Harry, I was quite upset when Ginny took me away from you.”

His tone is soft, welcoming, and sickening on the ears. She much prefers the monstrous calm one she hears on the radio. 

“Yes, yes Tom was the diary. He framed Hagrid years ago because he didn’t want to have Hogwarts close. Would not have been all that great if a rising Dark Lord was to go without education because he foolishly closed off his only schooling option.” Hermione cuts in drawing his attention back to her. He has Ginny’s wand, in his thin fingers.

Tom sneers at her and before he can say anything Harry who is younger cuts him off-putting all the pieces together. “You’re Voldemort, but how?”

“I decided to leave behind a diary that preserved my 16-year-old self in its pages so that one day I could return and complete Salazar’s noble work. Isn’t it funny how Dumbledore was driven out of the school by the mere memory of me?”

“Dumbledore will never be gone.” Harry challenges. “Not where there are those that are loyal to him.”

“Let’s see what good his loyalty buys you.” Tom hisses and there is a rumble. 

She knows that the snake is coming now. Great...

“I am going to stop you right there.” Hermione sighed. “This plan of yours is not going to work.” She lifts Ginny off the floor with her wand and sends her over to where the boys are located. “I can’t let you risk my students, nor this school, all for your petty beliefs on blood purity. It honestly disgusts me that a Half blood can even think to honor such traditions. Do you truly hate yourself that much? Or are you still angry about your father even after you killed him?” 

“Are you so keen to meet death? I can arrange it.” He asks her, forgetting completely about Harry and Ron. Ready to stop her from taking care of Ginny or to stall her so that he can finish what he has started. Either way, it doesn't matter. 

“I have met him on many occasions, and you are nothing in comparison to the things I have faced.” 

“Let’s test it then, the great Mudblood Asterope Belonda against the heir of Slytherin. Let’s see if you can protect yourself and your students.” The boy turns from her. _"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!"_

There is a loud screech and the snake comes from the mouth as predicted. She slashes her wand to the side closing her eyes and hoping the cutting spell makes its mark at about where eyes would be. There is a loud cry and she opens her eyes, keeping them to the water to try and see if she needs to make another attempt. Her spell had made its mark but the beast hide is too thick with the eyelids closed. Thankfully Fawkes is swooping at the beast's head ripping at the eyes with his talons. He must have been sent by Dumbledore to be an aid. 

_"KILL THE WOMAN! LEAVE THE BIRD! THEY ARE BEHIND YOU. SNIFF — SMELL THEM.”_ Tom bellows something in parseltongue and the large snake stills it’s head and attempts to smell her. 

Oh Godric Damn it. She curses and starts to run as it trains itself on her. 

She hits it with multiple slicing spells and it thrashes, as she pours more of her magic behind it. The thick scales are reminding her of dragons. The weak point would be in its mouth and Eyes. The eyes are gone, so that leaves her with one option. She nearly slips dodging the tail that is flung at her. The statute the large creature hits sends rumbles throughout the cavern. Shifting of the stone causes some of the ceiling to rain down. She dashes to the side for cover getting a little closer than she would like to Tom. 

The snake lunges and she points her wand straight up into its waiting mouth. “Avada Kedavra!”

Greenlight flies forward. She feels the weight of its mouth crush down on her, its body slamming into her full force and dragging her. Fangs digging deep into her arm and tearing it deeper through flesh to bone and she can not pry it off of herself. She wiggles feeling blood slicken her hand as she puts all her weight into trying to get its mouth open. 

The poison is coursing through her veins. 

“Fuck.” She hisses. 

“You might have killed her, but you will not live.” Tom despite his obvious hatred seems satisfied with this knowledge. “I will be back to full strength soon and I will kill your precious students.” 

She blinks feeling herself losing consciousness, that familiar shadow seeping into her vision. 

“Fuck.” She repeats. 

And Tom smiles thinking that he has won, and he has just for the moment. 

~/*\~

It is dark and yet the darkness has shades, she knows not how she can distinguish them but she can. They move and drift like endless foggy clouds, mixing and colliding in a display of grays, and darker hues. There is a buzzing, and if she concentrates that buzzing can turn into distinguishable whispers. There are hundreds of voices that mash into a chorus. Some are in agony begging to be released, and then there are the ones that almost feel friendly. 

**How good it is to see you again. I take it that things didn't go as intended with your encounter with Riddle?** There is a swirling to the dark and she can see a figure make out the glowing blue behind a hood. The entity is great in height, he towers over her. His crooked spine and thin limbs, wrapping her closer in his shadows. His presence is cold and he holds out a very thin hand out that catches a dim light that hangs off a large sickle in hand. The lantern swings with a creak and all the horrible voices are stilled. 

“Death.” She greets him, not amused by his friendly banter nor fooled. “I would like to wake up now.” 

She knows that he is keeping her here longer than need be as her body no doubt has regenerated with the cost of the time dust. 

**But it has been so long since your last visit to me.** The being runs a hand through her hair. Skeletal fingers raking against her skelp and she pulls away from him. He seems to sigh at her coldness to him. His efforts to comfort her have always failed. He is not able to convince her to stay in the peacefulness of the afterlife. **It grows lonely on my side of things without intelligent souls to talk to or make deals with. I wish that you would visit more.**

“Somehow I doubt that.” Hermione disagrees. “You are always acquiring new interesting souls.” 

**Yes but none of them are you, you are by far my favorite. We both know how stubborn yours is and how it refuses to stay with me.**

“It will belong to you eventually.” She says evenly. “Everything dies.” 

**Yes eventually.** The Reaper lets her go, as if bored again. **But you have hardly put a dent in the amount of time we have till then. I made you give up half to enter this loop, and there are still centuries left. Just as there were trillions before you were returned back to your original line.**

“You know what they say about absence and time apart.” Hermione looks to the light forming in the corner of the realm. 

**Yes, yes it makes the heart grow fonder.** Death taps his chin. **“You, my little anomaly, we could cut another deal.**

“I don’t have time for your deals.” Hermione hissed, knowing that auctioning more time was dangerous, as was staying where she was not meant to be. “I need to go back.”

The being huffed. **And here I thought that you would like to auction off some more dust to stay with your lover.**

Severus… her mind briefly wishes to give in to that temptation, but she holds strong. She wants so desperately to be with him, change everything that was to come. But she can't she will end more lives than save, is she breaks one of the wrong lines of reality. “No.” 

**Suit yourself then. Be lonely.** He waves his hand to bid her goodbye. 

~/*\~

She wakes with a pounding headache, and rips her arm free. Riddle has hardly a second to look surprised as he pauses whatever speech he was giving Harry before getting around to killing him. She hits the retreating Riddle with the cruciatus curse and he goes down. 

“Enough of a soul to feel that.” She spits at him as he writhes on the ground. His screams don’t even phase her; she holds the spell a few more seconds before getting what she came to this time for. She would do more later. She reaches down and picks up the diary, such a small thing really, insignificant in looks, practically Muggle. Half of a soul trapped in these pages, she flips through it, and feels the unholy combination of spells on the thing and laughs, holding the book tightly in her hands. “You really are a monster for making something like this.” She tells the soul shard that is twitching on the ground as she pushes him over to his back with her foot, wouldn’t help anyone if he drowned or choked on his own vomit. 

Ron and Harry look at her with wide, frightened eyes and she knows this is going to take a lot of memory altering and setting of a stage.


	8. Hellscape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, it's that time again!

There are plenty dead by lack of knowledge. She traveled with knees swaying with fatigue, yet still standing, she walked. Faith or fate, it is vain to contemplate what’s behind one’self. The venture she had to endure to remember the past was just practice for the present, and a future not yet to be remembered. 

For who knows what's ahead of her? She didn’t...

Insanely she wrote on pages of discarded scrap. Trying to keep it all straight how long she has been wandering, how long she has felt the bite of cold and the taste of chemicals across her tongue and skin. She would pay near anything to go back.

She asked herself, constantly, how to get home? Was there even a home to go back to? She had made it halfway across the world. She had been to each ministry and each city. Near nothing survived, books crumbled in her hands. Her few belongings wrapped safely in a backpack.

Was her insanity leading to genius? She questioned with little confidence. The lack of love, companionship, and near every emotion was getting to her. She wrote the five marks on her arms and they turned to little rubies of blood that beaded up, hardened, and filled with golden light. They faded away. It was getting harder to breathe and yet she still lived, even though the five marks had brought her to a world beyond and the five walls entrapped her, she held tight against the stone, so tight the hallow, would scar her palm. She called him or it forward. She summoned him, in the small ruin of the vail. Met the creature of shadow, and bone. An entity that was not meant to be controlled, nor talked with. A raw force that was given shape only by a person's mind of what he should look like or embody. He was not kind, nor vicious. Just one that made crooked deals to suit his own fancies and entertainments.

 **I can grant you your wish... for a price.** The being leaned in. Saving the desperation that she faced. **You have become something beyond time, near safe from me, and my realm. You possess a near overflowing hourglass of time.**

“How long have I been wandering?” There is no rising nor setting sun. There just is this endless light of red that hangs in the sky. 

**The wastes.** It breaths its soft voice, like a thousand whispers, as it cleared its throat to speak, The creature growled. **Hard to say? It is not like I keep watch over living beings. My time came, I reaped the fields, there were none left, no souls for collection. He pauses and there is a small flash of red that might be his eyes. until you.**

The cold sends chills up her spine. He circles her. **You seek to use the magic that courses in your blood to go back, yet do not know how to do so…**

He knows. He knows it seems her greatest wishes, she can see something blue in her chest, that constricts with her heartbeats, her soul. He can read her soul. She straightened up.

“That is correct.” She can not lie to such a force, but she can put on a brave face. She shouldn’t fear him. 

**I might be able to help you with that, in exchange I want your blood.** The word blood is drawn out as the face gets too close to her and she can see pointed teeth that linger in a bone jaw. They are not all human, some are more animals all meshing together swallowed by the dark of this place.

“My blood?” She had not been expecting that. Not at all. She looks up at him and he tilts his head, fingers brushing against her matted curls. 

**Yes it has Magic, the fabric of the universe's golden light woven between the droplets. At one point we would call something like you near demigod like, but there has not been one in eons.** He leans over her holding against her shoulder, directing her down the path lit by a blue lantern he is balancing on a crooked bladed staff. **There is little one can not do with such power residing in one's veins. I have no blood, no flesh. I was created from other matter, stronger dark than your light. It would prove useful to me. Though it would take much of your life force.** His eyes glow blue near soft and she is not fooled by the shift in tone. 

“How much?” She remembers the story, she can not trust his deals. 

**Trillions? Difficult, very difficult to tell.** The hold tightens, as he guides. He is unsure himself, the being that seemed so confident a second ago is puzzling it out. 

“Trillions... “ She can not fathom it.

**Oh yes, if you wished to, you could wait out the death so to speak of the universe.** He wheezes out a laugh. **Then we'll begin again. That is how these things happen. I have been through the cycle twice. All things born again as Life shows her pretty little corrections to the cosmos getting better with each iteration. Changing things every so suitably. But these games don't concern one that is part mortal.**

“No,” She answers smartly, “I suppose they don't. You help me to get me back to save those I care for and I pay greatly. But what does my blood grant you?” 

**Despite your desires, you would willingly suffer the cycles alone than give some dark being a way to inflict harm. How interesting, I have always loved interesting pieces. Perhaps I shall tell you then.**

The reality around them bends and there is a small house. Its structure gothic in decor, but the plants surrounding it beautiful she had never seen such pretty flowers. Still, the world's color is off, and she can tell that she is out of place within this garden. The grays and blues, and blacks make everything feel like it is a memory. 

**Beautiful is it not?** Death touches one of the twisted trees that is larger than any tree that she has ever seen, towards the top, there seems to be color that breaks the grays, blacks, and blues. It's white like light. **This is my home. Each part of my gardens has a path to the afterlife, where we came from is purgatory. I have tended this reality for 9 Trillion years and I can not leave it, sept, when there is the last bit of essence to collect from a soul, their last bit of time, buys me the time to do my job. Your blood though could do something for me.**

“And what would you do with the ability to stay longer in the other plane?” 

**That is undecided. I can not break my role, have no fear. I must collect the souls, it is my duty, my purpose, my promise. But I have been trapped here. I want to experience it all. Experience life, other than in memories that I see for souls. He gestures, I have built this world based on what I have seen in feeble human minds. I will forever wonder what magic Life has worked, never to see it longer than glimpses, never to feel it, never to be able to touch it. I wish to experience and to do so would take blood, time, magic, I can not hope to collect.**

**TIll now.** He comes closer to her. **Dear Hermione Granger born the year of 1976, in the mists of September. One that was chosen to befriend Harry Potter and help him vanquish the Dark One. I offer you a deal. Half of your time, more time than you ever will have use for. In exchange, I will help you reach the time that you left, to finish your noble goal to rid the world of Tom Riddle that has evaded me for too long.**

There is powerful magic, she can feel it, old, older than any spell ever spoken. It wove through the air, the ground, and she could feel it cutting through to her very core. 

He holds out a human-seeming hand. **Is it a deal?**

She had always been told not to make deals with devils, but this was the only chance. It was the only prayer she had so she placed her hand in his. Putting pressure to grip it, strong as she shook his hand. 

_Deal._

There were demons she can still hear screaming as she bartered for half of her surprisingly near immortality to go back, go back to her own time. She can not exist in a time that is before her birth, nor while there is another version of her, not without another painful price. Death was willing, more than willing, to make a second deal, bend the rules and so She had bartered with the being again to make it to the past for a chance at the object that she now held in her hands. 

She needed someone or something that could sense the other Horcruxes and so she had thought long and hard about which object, what soul shard would be useful in this quest. Half was the best bet, more soul, more sanity, not that Tom ever had much to start with. 

The diary feels like victory. Tom Riddle is starting to fade again as she severs his connections to a sleeping Ginny Weasley. He will go back to his place in the Diary soon. He can do not much more than glare at her. He would do more but she had silenced him as he would probably be distracting to her as she set everything to look like Harry had originally defeated the basilisk the only added part was her role in the whole mess. Death by being crushed seemed like a good option. Trying to move hundreds of rocks could cause the system to collapse, there would be no way to tell for sure if she had been crushed or not. They could check for human life, and if they sensed nothing they would assume her dead. Severus might be a bit harder to fool. She doesn't think he would give up that easily but even he could not move all the rubble safely. She bends down and makes strong memories, falsifying the fear that they felt for her, and shifting it towards Riddle and the large snake. Fear that she was missing not the spells she had used to slay the basilisk. 

“Forgive me.” She tells them, kissing Ron’s head and making them both as comfortable as she can. 

**~/*\~**

The note is written, sealed with a wax stamp. A teardrop runs the letter’s ink as she decides against it, ripping it in half, crumpling it, and tossing it toward the fire. 

‘It is best you are dead.’ She tells herself, ‘do not give him hope where there is none.’ 

Empty is how she feels, despite getting exactly what it is that she came for. She pulls the cloak over herself, cut from the very fabric of Death’s robe. She vanishes, prize tucked into her bag, she quickly makes her way through the forests, the moon is rising and she needs to be at her leaving point or the ride would not nearly be as graceful. 

She hears the skittering of her 8 legged friends and knows that they can smell the blood that lines her robes. She has slain their greatest enemy. Their eyes burn in the night and their pinchers click excitedly. Their voices hushed wraps to one another. The part for her, letting her trail over their more spread webs. They are eating well near the bog she had entered in. Perhaps her blood had given some of its magical properties to the land. Either way, she knows that they will not come for her in the battle of Hogwarts in the future. Not when they would know the scent of a predator greater than the thing that they once feared most. 

She reaches out with the tip of her wand and pokes at the cords of webs. “I may be in need of some of this.” She tells them and when they do not suppose she collects some of it up. “Thank you.” 

She slips off her boots and wades into the waters. They are cold with the smell of fresh spring grasses and old pine. Hermione looks to the setting sun and slices her palm, drawing out the letters that Death had taught her long again. Bones creak and pop, her body shutters as it is bright back to the present day. It is as if she never left, a day only gone ticked off the calendar by her loyal servant. She had rescued the elf from his abusive masters, liberated him, only to be begged for the contract. Hox would be of use to keep an eye on what will be her soon permanent resident. She folds the cloak and places it on its shelf next to the box that holds the stone. She holds herself back from the temptation to touch it. Severus is not dead. He is alive, tucked away at the newly ‘improved’ magical school. He would be headmaster there until there was better use for him elsewhere. Voldemort would not risk him needlessly, not when Severus was a pioneer in magic. Still, her home felt empty, it always had, but it is colder than she remembered it. 

Death's words linger. **_Be lonely_ ** such a being would know. He had been alone for far longer than her, of course, he tormented the living and the dead with his little deals when he got bored, but she is sure that he is lonely waiting for that day he and life can reconnect. She knew that he would be itching to make another deal should Voldemort ever try and take the person she has cared so greatly for earlier than what she would have considered his time. 

****

“Severus.” She breathes trying to control her emotions. She takes out the quill that he had given her for Yule and cresses the black feather. She can pretend that it is his hair, that she is close to him. But it is not the same thing. Not even close. She wants to see him, she wants to make contact but knows how foolish that would be. He will consider her long dead. It is best that her other ego stays that way. She is Hermione Granger, after all, one of the few that still stands against Voldemort. He would kill her on sight or curse her to keep appearances. He will not feel the same. It has been 8 years for him, minutes for her since she last saw him, an eternity since she has felt anything for another person. She strokes the feather one more time and puts it safely to the side as she pulls out the Diary. 

****

Riddle is no good to her trapped in the pages. He would keep leaching her magic, and her soul. No, he needs a soul and a body of his own if she is going to use him properly. Especially if she wants to force him into cooperating, she needs a way to cause him pain. She taps the cover, feeling the dark corrupted magic within respond, his magic attempts to cress hers. She smites it and it woundedly does not attempt the action again. The soul she chooses must be a weak one, Riddle needs to overpower it. She scowls to herself. There were few suitable options other than a pathetic Snatcher or low tear Death Eater. None of them, she wanted bloodying up her office. 

****

Sacrifices must be made in the name of the greater good, wasn't that what Moody had said the night of his death? 

****

She would hardly count bringing this wretched child out of the book as anything more than a mistake, an abomination of magic given sentence and a way to exercise it. Part of Voldemort she was going to have to tame, or pull the teeth out of and declaw. It was not her best choice of a pet project. She did not fancy the idea of the little dark lord stalking her rooms, nor having to hear his grating voice and snide comments. She did not think it was possible to redeem Tom. Not when he seemed to take sick pleasure in hurting others and had already killed 4 people by the point of the diary's creation. He was egotistical, a narcissist, that lacked any self-control or empathy. Her only hope was to bind him with enough unbreakable vows, and contracts that he could not so much as sneeze without her permission. Use him to get the remaining 4. 

****

****

Hermione knew 2 for sure of the 4 and was near positive that the diadem would be the other. It still left whatever was in Lestrange's vault. It would be a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor relic as it would fit the mold. Tom had an obsession with Hogwarts, even in his most twisted final form. He wouldn't let the castle go even as her wards tried to bar him from entry, even when he had nearly reduced the school to the ground in his quest to kill her best friend. 

****

She can not dwell. She has no time for it, there is still the possible world war 3 hanging over her head should she not stop Voldemort in the near future. She would need to catch herself a weak individual that was well deserving of a fate worse than death as they would need to be worth having their soul erased. 

****

She would contemplate this later. She needs a shower or a long bath, she hardly looks presentable covered in her own blood, and that of an ancient creature. 

****

**~~~~~*******~~~~~**

****

Ink splashes into the world, the only color in a place without it, void of all but memories woven into a safety net. One can not feel anything in this prison. Familiar objects, comforting seeming places, are all but illusions. A soul was not supposed to be woven into an inanimate object and anchored there with complex spells. It's cold, unfeeling, and devoid of anything but thoughts, and one's thoughts get destructive if left to fester. He had been so close to leaving this place...being trapped here was like opening old wounds as his other self had forgotten about him, had not written in him, had not given him a purpose other than to collect dust. Then had the audacity to get himself killed by going after a prophesized child. One that by his understanding was only alive because of his filthy Mudblood mother. 

****

It only added insult to injury that he had not been able to defeat the Defense against the Dark arts professor, and gotten his prized basilisk killed. He hadn't even been able to kill Harry Potter of all people, who was glued in place. 

****

The ink that is coming down into his vision, drips down the walls that make up his prison, is almost promising... A person's soul is present and he can feel their magic. He dares not to hope as he reaches out with what little energy he has to gauge the person and it's stripped away. 

****

**𝑅𝒾𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒, 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝒾𝓇𝓉𝓎 𝓂𝓎 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝑜 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒷𝒿𝑒𝒸𝓉. 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉. 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝑔𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓋𝒾𝒹𝓊𝒶𝓁 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒. 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒷𝑜𝒹𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝓌𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓂𝓅𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑔𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝑜𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝓁𝑒𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓊𝓁𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒹𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓎𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓅𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓅𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓁𝓎.**

****

He doesn't have the energy to respond, he doubts that they will wait for him to dignify it with one either. The only person he could think of that seemed to know what his diary was, was Belonda and he knew nothing of her other than she was a Mudblood that exposed that the Chamber had been opened before while he was a student. Ginny had not written much about her other than she had the suspicion that the person behind the attacks might not have known that they were even committing the deed. He grits his teeth. She knew a lot about him. 

****

She knew about the ring...

****

She probably knew exactly what he was. No matter if he were to play for charm or the long run like he had Ginny. Belonda would be wary of him, her warning was proof enough. 

****

He is at a severe disadvantage. The question was what did she want from him? It was obvious that she hated Voldemort by the way she acted in the Chamber and by the way that Ginny had described her club. He folds his hands in front of him, balancing his arms on his knees. The fake Slytherin common room's fire flickers. He will have to play this very carefully, having a body was an advantage, but it also meant pain. She had not been hesitant to use unforgivables. She had met that one she hit him with. He shuddered, who had he trapped himself unknowingly with? 

****

**~/*\~**

****

The best place to catch herself some scum of the earth is to go to their normal hangouts and wait for one to make a move. Snatchers were always checking hotels, Inns, and the main transportation like stations. They looked for signs of magical glimmers, enchantments to be invisible, and in general those that looked like they were nervous. All people were fair for Ministry officials to stop. If she was honest she didn't know if there were many people evil enough to warrant them deserving to lose their soul, but she supposed that those that were willing to catch Muggleborns and turn them over to be killed were already trading lives so what should it matter to her that she was trading their lives instead? 

****

She scowled as the weather decided that it wanted to open up to a downpour. Death's cloak was great for a lot of things, keeping dry and not showing where water was hitting an invisible object was not one of them. She pulled it off and posed herself as a muggle looking over a book waiting for her train. 

****

If she was in another time, she could have cuddled up next to a fire with the radio playing, forget about grading till the next day. Severus would be there, her mind unhelpfully reminded her. 

****

When she sees an individual move to follow a woman with a glimmer onto a train she slams into him and proceeds to make a scene of looking fearful of him. She looked at his arm first and then his face. His eyes widened from under his hood. 

****

“Excuse me.” She stutters and pushes off him hard and bolts. 

****

‘Chase me.’ she thought, ‘Come now you know you want to. I am a pretty girl and I am scared of Death Eaters.’ 

****

She can hear his footsteps trailing her. He was fast and she would give him that. She ducks out into the down poor, her hair clings to her scalp. She leads him down tight alleyways. He is foolish enough to keep giving chase. His spells miss her by inches. None follow them and she darts around a tight corner and waits for him, seconds as he turns she gets him right in the side of the head with a stunner. 

****

It really was that simple wasn’t it. Voldemort needed much better help. 

****

“You are rather poor at this game.” She stands over him and paralyzes him for now. He breathes heavily, his blond hair sticking in his face. She isn’t even winded, pathetic how most Wizards and Witches relied so heavily on their wands that they could not handle a little exercise. All he can do is look up at her in horror. “Have to see your memories.” She bends down and places her hand against his head. She wasn't the best at this and she needed physical contact. She feels discussed having to touch him as she shifted through the memories. She pulls out ungracefully her eyes flash dangerously. It seemed that she had found her victim. She would not regret his death. She would kill this monster herself if Tom didn’t do what he was supposed to. She needed him in condition to be able to write, she felt nothing about breaking his nose for good measure. 

****

**~~~~~*******~~~~~**

****

Time is a funny thing in the Diary, one can’t be sure how long it has been since the last time someone has written to him. He has pondered his participant for what feels like ages. Magic floods into the book and red ink drips from the walls. 

****

I̴ ̷a̸m̷ ̶a̸ ̷h̶o̵r̸r̵i̵b̷l̸e̴ ̴p̶e̸r̶s̶o̴n̷.̶ ̶ 

****

He blinks at the words, they look almost scratched in. He touches the wet ink and can feel the harsh impressions. It smells of iron and he can feel the wetness and the texture that is thick. It’s not ink…. 

****

It hardly registers that he is not supposed to feel anything. 

****

I ̵h̵a̷v̸e̶ ̵d̵o̴n̴e̶ ̴h̸o̵r̵r̸i̸b̴l̸e̷ ̸t̵h̵i̵n̶g̸s̴ ̸i̵n̵ ̵t̶h̴e̴ ̸n̴a̷m̴e̸ ̸o̴f̶ ̷t̶h̵e̷ ̶D̶a̴r̸k̷ ̶L̷o̵r̸d̶.̴ 

****

Its blood…. 

****

He is literally being given the essence of life, hand-fed, magic, and power. 

****

She really did this? 

****

She gifted him a soul, and weakened them, let them get tangled in the compulsions. To write in their own blood was not something that Tom had ever originally thought to do. It would speed up the process, it would mend him. It would give him better of a head start than he could have hoped for. 

****

I̷ ̴w̵a̸n̸t̷ ̵t̶o̷ ̸s̷t̸o̷p̸ ̷w̷r̵i̵t̸i̷n̵g̴.̸ ̶ 

****

He can’t even smile about the torment that the other person is in as if she would do this…. What else was she capable of? The idea chilled him and he held tight to his robes as more and more writing flooded into the pages, he can't absorb it as fast as it is being scribbled. He is writing all of his sins, every last one, baring his soul to the diary, it's a twisted one that he supposes matches the remaining withered part of his stored in this cursed book. 

****

This person has done horrible things, horrible things that make him almost sick to think about. 

****

W̷h̷y̸ ̴c̵a̵n̸'̵t̵ ̸I̵ ̷s̶t̶o̸p̷ ̸w̶r̴i̵t̵i̴n̷g̵.̸ 

****

The writing was becoming more and more frantic, panicked, and smudged. Tom is running out of pages and pleas start coming. He can't stop now even if he wanted. He doesn't even know how much blood the other had left. 

****

H̸e̸l̸p̸ ̵m̷e̶ ̴p̷l̴e̵a̷s̴e̷.̴.̵.̵ 

Tom feels a lot stronger than he has in a long time. He would be able to leave the diary again soon and he is not even close to being prepared for what that could entitle. 

****

**///////**\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\**

****

There is a wadded piece of paper by the fire, the ends have burned away. He pickles it up and puts it back together the best that he can using magic. 

𝓢𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓾𝓼, 

𝓘𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓲𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓶𝔂 𝓮𝔁𝓬𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓵𝓮𝓭𝓰𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘 𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾. 𝓘𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓫𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓭, 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓶𝓮. 𝓘𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓫𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮. 𝓣𝓸 𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓪 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓶𝓪𝔂 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻. 

𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮, 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓮𝓪𝓼𝔂, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓹 𝓱𝓲𝓶. 𝓘𝓽 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓟𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻, 𝓘𝓽 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓶𝓮, 𝓘𝓽 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂. 𝓦𝓮 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓼, 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭, 𝓫𝓪𝓭, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓾𝓹 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓫𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓸 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝔂. 𝓘𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮, 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓱𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓮𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝔂𝓸𝓾. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓲𝓻𝓬𝓾𝓶𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓘 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓼𝓸 𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓵𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮. 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝔂, 𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓘 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓼𝓪𝓿𝓮. 𝓘𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓹𝓾𝔃𝔃𝓵𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓽. 𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓭𝓸 𝓶𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓼𝔂, 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓪𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾. 

𝓚𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓹𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓮𝓵𝓪𝔂 𝓱𝓲𝓶 𝓼𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝔂 𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓮𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓲𝓶 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓘 𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓿𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼, 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓲𝓽 𝓮𝓷𝓭, 𝓲𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓪 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓶𝓮 𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮, 𝓘 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓲𝓽 𝓯𝓾𝓵𝓵-𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓭𝓵𝔂, 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓻𝓮𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓸𝓻 𝓭𝓸𝓾𝓫𝓽𝓼. 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷’𝓽 𝓪𝓭𝓶𝓲𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓲𝓷 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷, 𝓼𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓪 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓸 𝓼𝓸𝓯𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝓮. 𝓣𝓸𝓸 𝓬𝓻𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓾𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓪𝓼 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸 𝓶𝓾𝓬𝓱, 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓰𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓫𝓮 𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓫𝓵𝓮. 

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓰𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓘 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭𝓷’𝓽 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯. 𝓘 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓭. 

𝓐𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼, 

𝓐 

This is a letter that he isn’t sure that he should let the intended read. It could change things. He strokes his long beard, putting the letter into his breast pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very glad that you all like this story, I am enjoying writing it :D
> 
> Poor Riddle has no idea what he is in for, there can't be any hope for a damned soul like his.


	9. A Deal With A Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an early holiday gift!!
> 
> (~￣▽￣)~

The room is surprisingly modern, well he assumes that it is modern. There are a few objects that look vaguely familiar. This is a fourth-floor apartment, pretty gracious in size. There is the sound of loud trains that shake the walls slightly. There is blood on the floor and the diary still there, the man that was holding it, is holding it like his life depends on it. He is covered in words. He peers closer, it's more morbid curiosity than anything. They are deep gorges that go up his whole arm and disappear past his robes. He stares at them, they are the details of what he had been writing in the book. He had not only been forced to write in his own blood but to carve the very words into his own flesh. The red-tipped quill is still clutched in his hand.

“Do you approve of my handy work?” A female voice makes him tear his eyes away from the scene. The woman that he had first met personally in the Chamber of secrets doesn’t even remotely look like the teacher anymore. She is clad in a traveler's cloak. Her hair is wild and her eyes shine gold. Around her neck is the locket he had searched for at one time to help prove his lineage. A locket that was lost and his mother had sold before she died. He eyes the door behind her as the window is not an option. She has her hands folded under her chin and she is watching his every movement, sitting at a long table that is serving as a workbench.

“I would not try it.” She answered simply as if reading his need to be away from her. “Sit.” 

It's a command if he has ever heard one. He doesn't yet want to refuse her. He takes the chair that is farther away from her, not that it will do him any good. She has her wand wrapped between her fingers and he is one good spell away from ending up similar to the man that had written himself to death. 

“He deserved it.” She continues her eyes and never leave his face. “He thought that it was fun finding vulnerable Muggleborns and turning them over to the werewolf packs. He got off to their deaths, I am sure he wrote all about the children he took from their parents. Or at least tried to. Curse or not, the pain would have made his written thoughts unreadable.” 

Yes he has that squeezing feeling in his gut again. Tom had not been scared for what had been half a century according to what Ginny had written him. He hadn't been this terrified since the bombs being dropped in London, huddled away in the shelter with the other orphans, expected to get a job or get shipped off to war in the coming months. Tom didn't want to die then, and he still doesn't want to die now.

She doesn't comment on his fear of her, nor seeming pleased by it. She just seems tired like he is some chore that she has to deal with. He is used to those sorts of looks. He got them all his childhood. The cold disinterested eyes haunted his younger self. It didn't matter how smart he was, how independent, helpful, or troublemaking. They couldn't care less, shutting him up on the third floor and muttering about his freakiness any time they thought he would not be paying attention or low enough they thought that he wouldn't hear. He tightens his hold on his knees under the table, putting all the emotions that would get him cursed there. He will play whatever role she wanted him to play and find a way out.

She unfolded her hands and vanished the body, and the mess. The wand's form is perfect, loose, and yet firm, her movements fluid. He flinches when she trains it back to a position that would be easy to hurt him.

"Hox." There is a pop and a small and ancient-looking elf appears. "Please bring us tea. I have a feeling that this will take a bit, and Tom here will need to gather his strength."

He tries to keep himself from thinking too much on what she would want with that strength, certainly though she would not raise him from the diary only to kill him minutes later, it would be wasteful. He steadies his heart rate and breathing with that fact. The elf looks at him with large brown eyes, they are full of judgment and he has a feeling that the elf doesn't like him either.

"Yes, Miss. Hox will bring tea and bread."

"Thank you." Her eyes leave him for a second in order to nod her thanks to the little creature. There is something there, not quite fond, but almost respectful in the way that she treats it. He is not foolish enough to think that an elf could be a weakness for her. Even with how small they were, elves were magically capable. He has no wand, and while he is decently skilled at wandless magic he is no match for an elf should he not physically get a hold of it.

"To business then." She smiles tightly, she doesn't want to interact with him. "I will start with some much-needed information to give you some perspective on just what sort of mess you are finding yourself in. Welcome to the 2000s, where your other self has taken over and murdered nearly a third of the European Wizard population. What you saw was happening in your time with the Jewish people and those that Hitler deemed unfavorable, is happening now to our kind. Voldemort is hardly a leader of the people, he has just murdered enough, caused enough pain in the past 4 years to make it so that most will not oppose him. He is supposedly unkillable, but we both know that isn't true."

He glances again towards the necklace that she wears. He knows that his goal was to make 7 and she would not have let him live if she didn't think he would be helpful in finding the others. "How many have you destroyed?"

"Not the question I thought you would ask. I thought you would be more interested in the jumping of dates."

Yes he noticed that, but it was more pressing to know how many objects he has to help find before she turns the wand onto him and kills him too. He just stares at her and hopes she gets that he wants that one answered.

"This is really going to be a great working relationship, I can already tell." She says sarcastically, breaking to take the teacup offered to her by Hox. The little elf carries the tray over to him and he knows that he is expected to take some as well. He wouldn't put it over the woman he is sitting across from to drug him, but he takes the cup regardless and places it in front of himself.

"To answer your question." She takes a small sip of her tea. "There are still 4 unaccounted for. The ring and another were disposed of. Your new soul has ties to the diary from which it came." She calls the blood-soaked book to herself holding it with her nice painted nails. "If I wanted all I have to do is dissolve it in basilisk venom or plunge a fang multiple times through it and there will be no trace of you left. You have a borrowed soul after all." She lets that sit, "I digress, I know 3 of the 4 remaining objects, and know that if the pattern is anything to go with that the object in question will be one of significance from Hufflepuff or Gryffindor."

He absorbs that knowledge so he did complete the task. He made seven and she had tasked herself with making Voldemort mortal again. It is sort of a horrifying thought that he had managed to kill a third of the population. Ginny's brief musings about the chamber suddenly have great relevance. IF Voldemort exposed magic to Muggles, to them, with so few wizards in number, and most likely not the nicest or well educated of the bunch. They would be foolish or lack the idea of diplomacy skills to talk carefully to those they saw lower than them, could go horribly, horribly wrong.

"I can practically hear your thoughts." She shakes her head. "If you are worried, I have no plans on killing you yet."

"Yet." He manages to almost laugh.

"I might not ever destroy you, what matters to me is your cooperation."

"In killing the other parts of myself." He knew that is what she wanted, but willingly stabbing himself in the back, no matter how far he might have gotten lost on the path to pushing magical boundaries and protecting the magical world from filthy Muggles, just isn't something that he willingly would do.

"Well the other parts of him. you have been separated for too long, don't tell me you think you have the same personality or traits as him." She chuckled as she studied his face. “Oh, you think you do. Little Snake you are nothing in comparison.” 

He feels like she is severely underestimating him, and it feels degrading. She leans a little forward in her seat. “The man that I killed to give you a soul was more evil than you." Her eyes flashed. "Not that I would forgive you easily for the actions that you have done. Myrtle was innocent, trying to kill my friends, and my students this past year was also a great mistake and an insult to me."

He might have wounded her pride. She did seem to want to protect everyone, yet she was willing to do very dark things to get them done. She smiles slightly again though as he shifts in his chair, trying to keep a mask in place and not give away how much she disturbed him. This was worse than anything that had happened with Dumbledore, at least the worse that the old goat did was try and peer into his head, and load him up with detentions whenever he could within reason. He liked to pretend that he was fair and that he was kind and or just.

"Sorry." He hazards, it seems like the appropriate action. 

"You’re not, but your attempt to be polite about it, is noted." She takes another sip of her tea and he dares to do the same, the warm liquid is the first thing that he has tasted in years. It's sweet, and probably one of the best brews that he has ever had. She smugly watches the reaction. "Hox will be glad you approve."

The elf in question is nowhere to be seen but he doubts that it would go far from its master side.

"Now on to a deal of sorts.” She takes the tray closer to herself to get at the bread. “I need you or rather your blood to dismantle some enchantments that are in place to protect a Horcrux, as a living one, yours would match his enough to get past them. You also should be able to detect objects that have similar signatures to your own soul, no matter how well they are hidden or disguised.”

She rips at the bread as she breaks it apart to make room for butter. “How I get that blood or cooperation to help find the artifacts is completely up to you. That body of yours is fragile, I can force you to do near anything that I want. I have years of experience in torturing people."

Tom's eyes look away from her burning ones, to the place on the floor that there was once a body. "Or." He clears his throat, hoping she would say an or.

"Or you help me willingly, blood given from an alley is stronger than that which is forced. You help me, Riddle, you swear to it, and when this is done. I will let you go, I will not kill you, maim you to the point you can't be a threat, you simply get to leave all limbs still nicely attached. "

There had to be a catch. He narrowed his eyes. "I just get to leave?"

"Yes, free to do whatever it is that your twisted heart wants, but should you choose to follow that monster's path. You choose to harm others that are not worthy of it. I will find you, I have my ways. No matter the enchantment that you use, no matter the place you flee. I will kill you, and it will be messy. It will make anything written to you by that sick bastard seem like child's play. Same thing goes with trying to get out of our deal early. You try to flee in a situation I haven't told you to leave from, you try to stab me in the back, and I will drain all your blood and store it for use. I won't need you. Are we clear?"

He feels quite ill, he doesn't trust his voice so he just nodded. 

"Are we clear?'' She repeats.

"Yes..." He makes his voice as strong as he can. He puts the hate that he feels for her there, it makes it easier to make his voice come out clipped and cold. She was something created from the evil that Voldemort and he wonders if she is in her own way worse. 

~/*\~

Hermione watches him carefully. “Very well, we shall make oaths over it. I shall uphold my end of the bargain if you uphold yours. Hox will serve as witness.” 

She stands and holds out her hand, he looks at it and she just takes his. He stills. His behavior is reminding her of some of the traumatized children she has helped to relocate or freed from holding cells. Abuse was a hydra. No matter the head cut off impacts and pain from it could take new forms. Tom being treated poorly is not something that she likes to think about, because any feeling that she has towards Voldemort other than hate, is leaving room for doubts. But this is not Voldemort, it is just a part of him. A 16-year-old preserved copy that was a murder, and a racist but not nearly as evil as the people she fights on the daily. Still, he is someone that a few days ago had attempted to kill her. He is hardly the first, but she never let anyone get away with it. 

She makes her vows, very careful of the wording to make sure there is room for small loopholes. Her's being if Tom is to become a danger to those that she wished to protect before the arrangement had concluded that she could kill him. There are few that she has left, fallen out of contact with them as it is much safer. She doubts that Tom will run into any of the remaining Order, they are on the top of Voldemort's shit list. 

She in turn leaves some room for Tom on what is seen as a way to harm her, purely because she wants to make sure that if an accident were to occur and she got hurt and it was Tom's fault that he would not be punished for it. There was a difference between intents. Magic was all about intent as so should people's actions. If his intent was good or to do what she said, and it blew up in his face she didn't want him to go down with the pain of the curse she placed on such an action. Similarly, if they were in a firefight, as those tended to happen often with her. she needed to make sure that if he did aim a spell to aid her as he was supposed to and it hit her, it would not help to have Tom convulsing on the ground. 

Yes that left a little room on what Tom could decide as harm for instance if he thought she was not getting enough sleep and drugged her with a sleeping potion for the intent to make her take care of herself, and he needed to do something shady on the side she is not sure that the curse would be able to distinguish between them. If there was a direct benefit to both of them, believed full-heartedly or perceived by Tom. 

Not that she would help him figure that out, he was as slippery as they came and she knew that he would exploit what was meant to be exploited. With all that taken care of, she pulled him along to the spare bedroom. The room had at one time been used by Luna, there were moving paintings of stars. It's not exactly the most masculine of rooms, but it will suit him. 

"This will be yours while you stay here." She steps in, taking note that Hox had at least kept the upkeep. She hadn't had anyone over in nearly 2 years, longer if you counted the trip that she took forward in time and then all the little stunts lasting anywhere from a few days to weeks. "I will see about getting you clothes. Those will not be much use to us if the goal is to blend in." 

Tom says nothing, he is looking around with a look of indifference. She didn't expect him to thank her. He just nodded as she stopped talking, eerie silent and eyes sharp. He probably was looking for anything that might be useful to him in getting out of the deal or that might be slightly entertaining in the downtime that they would have as she planned their first heist. 

"I will have Hox bring you history books and all the newspaper articles from the last few years. It will help to catch you up. The bathroom is down the hall, across from you is my room." 

Tom makes no snide comment about not needing help finding anything. He takes a seat on the bed and plays with one of the star-shaped pillows. 

She sighs deeply. "Dinner will be at 5, I expect you there." 

She can live with him being quiet, sullen, and such. It would make everything barrable if there were fewer things that she wanted to fight him over. Her safety spells should keep him out of most of the things she doesn't want him getting into. They do not have to get along, they probably wouldn't even if she put the effort in. 

What was it that Slughorn had recommended when dealing with those one didn't nessaerly like? Oh yes, obligated politeness and pleasantries. Yes, she could do that. 

She brushes a hand over the locket, she had removed the glimmer's hold and she had seen him eyeing it. He came from nothing and the real one would have bought him a place at least in the rankings of his fellow Slytherins. Perhaps she would let him have this one should he prove useful, it is about as convincing as the real if not a duplicate made from the very one. 

It could build up their 'relationship' if she played into niceties. He might be susceptible to guidance that way.

"Hox." She called. 

"Yes miss." The elf bowed.

"Please gather any books on our time that we have, any old newspapers, and legal documents that came out in the past 5 years. Riddle will need to be up to date." 

"Yes miss. Hox will do this." The elf does not look pleased by their guest. 

He knows well that there is something off about the child. And now she is thinking of him as a child, obviously, one that she shouldn't underestimate, but a young person nonetheless. 

"Thank you." She nodded and the elf made a soft pop as it went to the attic to gather things. She shifted her notes and timesheets away from herself and rested her head on her hand. 

The real locket would be the first target as it is the only one she knows of at the moment exactly what the Horcrux looks like and where it was. Umbridge had made quite the name for herself, sentencing 'legally' Muggleborns to death. She took pride in it. And Herminoe had tracked, traced, and deduced where her home was located. She just has to crack open the wards and should that toad not be home, she needs Tom to trace his soul. Accio charms did not work on Horcruxes nor did tracing dark magical signatures when there were a lot of them in a palace. She had no doubt that the place was full of dark Magical items. The bitch had taken out Moody’s eye and placed it in her door. 

She twirls one of her rings, as she plots the best entrances and times. Her surveillance memories she might have to revisit it has been a while. She would send one of her birds to double-check everything. If that woman was there she needed a punishment to match the crime. She tapped the desk. It would be quite hard to top the last one she killed that was a close follower or useful pawn to Voldemort. Mr. Nott’s family had to spend hours cutting him down. He had deserved it, He had killed Luna’s father. Luna had been only slightly disgusted with her. 

There is a soft knock. “Enter.” She calls out of habit with the way that she has been teaching for far too long. 

Tom stands in the doorway, he takes up two-thirds of the frame. “Hox would like me to remind you that Dinner is ready.” He grits.

“Is it five already?” She puts down her quill, it wasn’t like she had really been using it. 

“Yes.” He says simply. “Five minutes past to be exact.” 

“I see.” She stands and he moves for her. She doesn’t like her back to him, but she doesn't let it show. The curse would hurt him should he attempt anything. 

They eat in silence. Tom eats quickly and probably as politely as that would allow then leaves. Leaves only after she gives him permission. 

~/*\~

As the days blend together to weeks, she starts to hate it. She hates the way that he sometimes flinches in her presence and his overly polite attitude towards her. She supposes that having respect for her power is important to her, but she doesn’t want to be a tyrant. She was not Voldemort, she wasn't his followers, her intention was never to harm those that did not deserve it. Punishment for trying to kill her had already been enacted. If he did something else, horrible yes, but if not there wasn't any reason to harm him, nor would she deliberately put him in harm's way. 

She shows small kindness by supplying him with spellbooks and those that would have been his should he have finished 6th year. He is cold to her advances, she doesn’t expect him to be warm or friendly. He might share some likeness to Harry in looks but he is not him. She knows this. She truly does. But the more time she spends in his presence the more her views have shifted on what the situation is between them and what it could be. 

She watches the boy sitting across from her. That really is what he is. A boy that has done horrible things. One should know what was acceptable and right and wrong at the age of 16. There is hardly an excuse for the things that he has done, but teaching for the last 6 months has taught her that Teenagers were impulsive, egotistical, and foolish. Some were vicious, petty, and downright undesirable. Some were overly sweet, smart, and considerate. But they were all children, and Tom could change. She didn’t think he would ever be a perfect, happy, child. Nor the most heroic or brave, but he could be a model enough citizen all things considering he would fit rather well into the normal of this world. It was one where only the strong and slightly cruel could survive. And if she was going, to be honest with no one but herself she could say she had killed a few innocent enough people in this hell’s cape.

“Tom.” He looked up from his plate. “I want to make this clear. You don’t have to fear me.” 

He opens his mouth.

“I know that you are on guard every meeting. Think of us as even. I cursed you for nearly having my students killed and your snake almost tore my arm off. We have a deal in place, it stands and I will not break it, not curse you for speaking your mind. I am sure you have made your way through all the articles, books, and such that Hox brought you.” 

He nods.

“What did you make of them?” She folds her hands in front of her.

“Do you really want to know what I think, or do you want to hear that I disapprove of my other half's actions?” Tom tilts his head.

“I don’t think you approved of it all, nor do I expect you to lie to me.” She answers diplomatically. 

He seems to judge her again, looking at her a moment before speaking. “I agree that Muggles should be separate from the Wizarding kind.” He folds his arms and waits for her to throw back his answer but she stays quiet waiting for him to continue. So he does. “I don’t think that we can afford to kill everyone that is half-blood or less. He has made a real mess of things by making it so black and white. I would take children that show magic early and have them given to magical families. There would be the preservation of our culture, we would be safer.” 

“And if the Muggles were to find out that we steal their children from them?” 

“It's not like we would be murdering babies or children.” Tom snips. “We can give them children that would have rotted elsewhere, never adopted, and placed into foster homes. They still get the child that they wanted, little families. And we never risk exposure if we do it correctly.” 

“So you disagree with the imprisonment of Mudbloods as you called them and the mass murder of anyone that doesn’t see them as inferior beings?” 

“I hate Mudbloods because they think they have so much better ways of doing things. They trample the traditions and are fearful of all sorts of magic that they don’t understand. They are at a disadvantage from the beginning because they don’t know our ways. They risk our world each time they do accidental magic. They aren't as good as they could be and so they try to inhibit those that could be better. I despise Purebloods for their inability to think steps ahead. Flaunting their inbreeding as if it is something to be proud of.” 

She smiles kindly. “You did not answer my question little snake.” 

“No, I don’t believe in killing them all.” He says begrudgingly. 

“So why attack my students?” She presses. 

His lip curls. “Don’t think I don’t know what you are doing.” 

“I asked a simple question.” She says innocently. “I don’t wish to change your mind. I just wish to understand it.” 

“Why?” He says coldly. 

“Because I would like to know if you are worth teaching.” She waves her hand and the dishes vanish. “You have potential and I do not wish for you to complete this task and have no education. You will not go far without one, even if I make foraged documents for you.”

“You wish to teach light magic, and me to play nice with everyone? Dumbledore tried that.” He says with disgust. 

“Let’s make it clear that I dislike Dumbledore almost as much as I despise Voldemort.” She shakes her head. “I don’t believe in Light or Dark magic. I believe in being in the middle and toeing the line. It is a balance and I would like to see if you are capable of it, or if there is only darkness laying in your heart. All magic works by our will, intent, our desires, and I will not train someone that is too weak, too blinded by hate without good reason. The magic will consume you. You will become nothing more than what Voldemort is, and I will not be responsible for a second one.” 

He looks at her doubtfully. “According to everyone in the world, Voldemort is a pureblood championing the Pureblood movement. I would have done this as well because I would need power, even in school I was campaigning for the Pureblood cause it was the easiest and fastest way to get followers. I am a descendant of Slytherin after all. But no, I didn't believe in blood purity per se, it was just a means to an end for me.” 

“Yes I figured that it would be something like that. Hitler certainly inspired him, didn't he.” She brings her fingers to her lips thinking of it. There was more to dissect here, she can feel it in the way those brown eyes almost darken in the lighting. 

“It’s easier to make influential waves when you bind people by hate for someone.” Tom smiles far from sweetly. “ I am sure that the resistance is bound by similar feelings of stopping him and want to kill the Purebloods.” 

“The hypocrisy of a Halfblood slaughtering so many that were like him, and then making exceptions certainly makes your previous statement abundantly clear.” She taps the table with her free hand, red nails clicking with thought. Talking to herself more than him. 

“And for someone like yourself that is certainly offing them, it sort of goes against your idea of unity, correct or all races and blood types getting along.” He continues.

She silences him with a dark look. Her magic charging the air ever so slightly before she takes a deep breath. “Do not claim to know me. I kill those that deserve it, it is nondiscriminatory, it’s survival based, and purely out of self-indulgent revenge sometimes. I do not claim to be a hero nor villain. I just am, and I have tasked myself with stopping this rain of terror regardless. I have seen what happens if it doesn’t end.”

“So you are a seer?” Riddle asks now, quite interested in her. His fascination makes him forget to be cautious. 

She sees a little of the boy that flaunted his magic to Dumbledore in their first meeting. Not without a promise to shift things around. Still slightly trainable and malleable. He is a boy, after all, he will be wary at first of any attempted guidance. He will be skeptical and rigid to change some of his perceptions, with time though, with patience, and by giving him a little she would be able to help him. Or if he truly was capable of the dark, and only the dark she could give him suitable targets for his anger and blood lust. 

She will not use him like Dumbledore used Harry. She makes no false promises, nor will she offer him to the slaughter. But this is a game, a dangerous chess match and she needs a capable Rook for her board. 

She smiles slightly pretending to be amused by his openness. “I can see the strings of time, how the loops and threads are woven. Each choice makes little branches, if I play god as you seem to think I do, I can change some paths, not all bust some. I can only snip some strings without the whole thing falling apart, and if I don’t cut the one tie then there will be a third world war, one that will be Magic against Muggles.”

“They outnumber us greatly.” Tom pulls a face. 

“So you can imagine how well it goes.” Hermione frowns. 

“And so you choose my Horcrux because you can see these lines.” He asks cautiously. “If I help you then we can avoid this ending.”

He is searching for his place on the field. She can sense his need to be important, prove himself, ever the Slytherin, possibly despite not to become the thing that ends the world. She can push his need to be great in the right direction. Their oaths in place will make it difficult for Tom to stray too far from the better squares for him to be on. Dumbledore has lost, so she and Voldemort are all that remain. Playing for the future of the Wizarding world. She has no doubt that Tom thinks that he can maneuver himself and use her back. But he is not as clever as he thinks he is, if the chamber was anything to go by. He won’t underestimate her again, but he might overestimate himself. 

“You are an unknown variable, tied to my line.” She sighs. “I can’t tell you how my line ends. I can’t see it. I think that is because Death will not allow it, or perhaps I can not see it because of what I am and how I am in constant flux.”

“Can you teach me to read these lines?” His eyes narrow. 

She has won him over it seems. “Perhaps, I can help you see some, if you have the sight for it. True divination is not something that can be taught, you must have an affinity for it. But I can teach you how best to survive in this new world. You will be a target the moment that you step out that door with me. I have made it to public enemy number one.”

“He hates you that greatly, I thought that it would be Potter.” Tom says to himself more than her. 

“Harry Potter is dead.” Hermione says darkly. 

“Ah well condolences.” He isn’t sorry in the slightest nor does she expect him to be. “Does that mean that prophecy can not be fulfilled?” 

He would not care for anyone in this time, and when it boils down to it there are very few she cares for either. Defeating Voldemort has become more about revenge than saving the world or its future, even if she does care about it. She has near nothing left, nothing to work for if it's not killing him. 

“He died once, Harry did his job. Prophecies are tricky little bits of magical fate. Most people are dead though, I would say there is not much of a resistance force left.” 

He doesn’t seem happy with that assessment. “So it would be just the two of us against an army.”

“More like a country, but I have been fighting them for years and we are little exceptions to the stream of things. Unless your diary is destroyed then you can not truly die. And I have assurances as well.” 

He smiles a real one to that, “Played with dark magic did you?” 

“I’ve flirted with death for a while now.” She smiles back. “Do you wish to alter our original deal? I think that you would make an interesting apprentice for me.”

“I won’t be calling you Master.” The boy takes his first real stand against her, or at least he thinks it is. She never would have wanted to be called such a thing. 

“No you would just call me Hermione. I have no need for titles like that.” 

~/*\~ 

Tom gets a small box on his bed one morning mixed in with a few new robes that are folded and waiting for him to get dressed. He knows what it is the second that he notices the shape. He opens the lid to find a wand. It symbolizes trust in him, he supposes. The wood feels different in his hand than his old but capable. It has done horrible things, he can feel that too. The warped shape is proof enough of that, the etchings look familiar to him. He thinks he has seen such markings before on one of the Black’s wands. He turns it in his hand. 

He attempts a simple summoning charm to bring the brush to himself. It is successful, so he at least has some affinity with that. 

“How does it feel in your hand?” She stands near him, he had not heard her enter. She always moved so silently. 

“Decent, I have not won its allegiance.” He takes a small step away from her, he has never liked for people to be too close to him. 

“No I suppose that you haven’t that wand is very particular. If it does not work well for you we will find you another.” She beacons him to follow her, so he throws on one of the robes over what he managed to sleep in. He has learned that she did sporadic things that did not always make sense in timing. “I have decided to take you to test it out. How good are you at dueling?” 

“I am capable of handling myself.” He was not at full strength when they had met in the chamber. He figured by now he would have at least won some respect from her with the help he had done in inspecting the ruins she had of the large home that they would be breaking into. 

“I believe then today is a good time to prove it.” Hermione leads him to her office. The large raven is sitting on his pedestal. Huginn is a mean bird that bites even Hox. Tom has been on the receiving end of one of those harsh bites. The feathered beast is missing an eye and one of his toes. He lets Hermione run a hand down his back. “She should be at home.” 

“The woman in pink.” He remembers her ramblings, sleep-deprived as she was still one of the craftiest minds besides himself that he had ever seen at work. She was in some sort of rough place that he had been seeking to take advantage of. She often is touching the feathered quill in her office and muttering about dead friends to Hox late into the night. He has attempted to take advantage of that, slip into the comforting role, but she will not open up. He is starting to think the only clear answers that he will get is if he were to break into her office when she was running one of her errands and get past Huginn to look into the pensive she frequently used. 

“Yes Dolores Umbridge Head of the Muggleborn Registration Commission.” Hermione all but spits and the air is light with her magic. Tom can feel it move across his skin and the hairs on his arms stand with the action. “She is in possession of the real locket.” 

“Do you intend to destroy it?” Tom has always wanted what was owed to him, what his mother would have given him should she have not fallen prey to grief and weaker emotions over a man that never loved her. She had given up magic and abandoned him, with no inheritance or proof of who he was. He has been envious of the way Hermione had worn something he thought that belonged to him. 

“Perhaps.” She turns back from the window to look at him. “I am not yet certain if you can absorb bits of your soul and piece it back together. If you can’t I will.”

“To do that wouldn’t I need to have remorse?” Tom raises an eyebrow. “I thought that we already had this discussion about my inability to feel that.” 

“For most things.” She corrects him as if she sees something in him that he doesn’t see in himself. “I am sure if the right note was struck you might be able to feel it. However, that is here nor there, collecting the Horcrux is the top priority. She has been bragging as of late about her supposed heritage and you and I both know whose eyes that will draw to her, what ears will overhear it soon enough.” 

Apathy. She had called it, for most things hadn’t really concerned him and why should he? why should he care what others were going through when it didn’t affect him? Tom is in full disagreement with her assessment. 

“Be careful If you insist on your disillusion enough you might believe it.” He paused before adding. “Do you think he will be showing?” 

Tom has seen the images in the paper and he has read about the feats that his other self had done. The display of power to take down all of Hogwarts… it's terrifying. Yet the woman before him still stands. 

“I would not be taking you if there was a chance of that.” Hermione shakes her head. “Putting you as a top target is not my intention. It would not only shine a bright light on what we are doing but cause great panic in our target. He is paranoid and vicious as they come, it is best to work in shadows. You will keep your hood up and not reveal you're true name under any circumstances.” 

Her teaching tone meant that he had to play along. It has worked well for him so far. It has gotten him a wand and some of her more advanced spell books, so he is not going to argue and risk not getting to go out and see the worlds state for himself, assess her power, and he has been itching to actually use some of the things he has read about. 

Huginn lets out a loud popping noise. Hermione moves past him to get one of the treats and the large bird flaps its wings in anticipation. Tom scowls at it, as it makes more noises, the good eye looking at him, dilating and shrinking in the way that bird's eye did. The black bead shiny in the candlelight. 

“Have it, sweety.” She held out a walnut and the large beak closed around it. "You know, you would probably have better luck with him if you fed him.” 

“Animals do not like me.” Tom says simply. She gives her bird one more stroke attaching something to its leg. 

“It is perhaps because they can sense you don’t like them.” Hermione retreats to the kitchen. Hox was already putting together breakfast. Tom takes the tea for himself and then pushes it across the table towards her. She takes her drink with 2 small spoonfuls of sugar as always. 

“When do we leave?” He asks after taking a small sip of his. It is a little too warm and burns a little the tip of his tongue but he is not going to blow on it like some child. 

He doesn’t want to look eager but he has not left this place in nearly two months. He hasn’t even been able to have the window open for very long. He feels like an old man. He has not experienced the things that he sees every day out the window. A prisoner in both a book and then now in an apartment. The only sanity he has is the decent conversations that Hermione provides him with, and the books. 

“At noon, we will be dropping near the wards, we will push through just as we discussed the other day. You will hold onto the portkey. 

He grits his teeth, he by no means is against fleeing when the situation called for it, but her lack of faith in his ability to handle his own bothers him greatly and he knows his face shows it because her brow furrows and she looks done with him already.

“Do not give me that look, Riddle, it does not suit you. I have great faith in your ability to be of use on the mission. However, should there be say an army of Death Eaters crashing the party? I would like you to remove yourself from the firefight if you get injured or if I go down for a minute or two.” 

“Like you did in the chamber.” Tom has been trying to weed that nugget of information out of her. If she didn’t have Horcruxes how was it that she was able to come back from what should have been certain death?

“Like I did in the chamber.” She agrees. 

~/*\~

She has been building a relationship with the boy that had changed clothes as she asked him to. He wears dark colors and has the enchanted hood up so that none will see his face. He stands next to her near her shoulder, waiting for her to apperate them.

He no longer is fearful of her, but there is a cautiousness in the way that he speaks of things he knows might be unsettling to her. A respect that is only in place because she holds power over him, not because she is older, nor because she has taken the role of educator and he apprentice. He is very good at reading emotions and Hermione feels sometimes that they are dancing around each other analyzing each other should there ever be a reason to counter the other in the future. She doesn’t mind this dance, he lets his guard down a little around her and she has been building her ability to be in his personal space. Introducing small instances of touch, kind soft ones, and kind gestures that throw him off balance as she doesn’t think he has much experience with kindnesses. It is honestly quite sad and she enjoys his little stumbles down the path that she has set up. He is like a small cat, he wants respect and head pats but does not want to trust. He is always ready to bare teeth and claws. She wonders if it is possible to teach him to feel empathy or any other emotions than the few she has observed. 

Everyone needed someone near them, it's human nature but she knew how hard it was to find someone that cared for or loved her, A person that cried and hugged when she was feeling down. She had found that for a long time in Ron, but that was a young love. A fragile love that was snuffed out by war. She had fallen for someone in the past, a person that she could never have. She knows a lack of love, compassion, friendship had nearly driven her to a dark pit there was no escape from. Life got so harsh that it felt sometimes as if the entity was laughing at her struggle. That laughter was more apparent the way that she can see parallels in Tom to herself after she had lost all her friends and family, which had driven her to extremes to survive and fill the void. 

She often asked herself ‘Why do I do this? What's the point? We're all gonna die anyway, why does it have to be so hard?’ 

It was happening quite a bit more than usual since she had lost Severus, well not really. She was still mourning him though as if he were dead. Training Tom had given her something to direct herself to, for the first time in a while she had hope she had messed with the timeline correctly. The strands were still tangled, but this was her best hope to find all the pieces. What ended up happening to them, she has no care for, as long as she has them she has Voldemort by the throat. She would like nothing better than to see him squirm on the hook, tearing himself worse and worse in the process. Then she would kill him, destroy all the shards and doom him to that afterlife that Death wishes to sentence him to. 

This was a good test of Tom’s abilities and for her to see just where his magical core lay and his willingness to alter his fate. She was growing fond of him. She would hate to have to destroy him. Not when he makes the first move to grab her hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry if anyone had a hard time reading the last chapter's fonts. There will not be any letter writing for a while now. I had to do a lot of finagling to get the fonts in the last chapter and to try and undo it would be a big mess. I will keep fonts in mind for future chapters. 
> 
> Much love to you all and hope the holiday is nice for you!
> 
> Dawn ♥
> 
> Ps. We shall hear from Severus soon... should be interesting...


	10. Paid in Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is the night before Christmas and like Santa, I thought to drop this update late at night for all the good readers.

The house is the large one that sits on a hill. Descent from most approaches would not work if they did not want to be seen. Hermione lets go of him when they appear on the street by the gates to the well off neighborhood. He isn’t really used to apparition, though he had plans to learn it. His hand falls to his side. Tom knows that she holds herself back from him, he is not sure exactly why. Perhaps she wants to hate him but has decided begrudgingly to care. It's the type of hot and cold he is used to from the orphanage and his house. She initiates touch only to pull it away from him when it suits her. He is not exactly sure what to make of it in regards to if he likes it or not. Just like he isn’t sure why she needs him for this mission the way she doesn’t seem to have a care in the world as she moves forward undisturbed by the people that could recognize her. 

If their target is home, there is no need to have him try and locate _it_ when that information can be tortured out. 

He knows this is his test. Just as he knows that she probably has her own ways to get out of their deal should he prove useless. Yet being outside, having a wand in his hand, and the knowledge of what they could be doing is thrilling in a way. Makes him feel higher, more alert than all the times he had ever taken small things from stores or from the other orphans. 

“Stay close now.” She commands him and he doesn’t have to be told twice. The small spell that he has on him pulls at his chest to follow. 

There are Muggles making their way around them. She strides through the people around her and Tom keeps pace with her, weaving between bodies. She blends in, very easily among them. He has to watch the curls to spot her at points. She reaches her hand out and he stops before he can hit it. She places hers to the barrier and it pokes through the shimmering array, she then pulls a little at it making the opening larger. Tom follows suit and she takes his hand and drags it down and pulls her up. The opening becomes large enough for a person and she tilts her head and he slips through and then she pulls herself through and their wands. 

She starts to burn a rune into the grass, something that will stop apparitions. There are other ones that she is carving deep into the ground, shapes that he does not know the meaning of just the base. Death, and some sort of caution. They are doing this in daylight, but he supposes that stops the flame from being seen from this far. 

“She most likely is aware that we are on the property or least that there is a disturbance. Might as well make a distraction.” 

He is tempted to set off some fireworks, the loud pops usually worked well enough for him at Hogwarts when there wasn’t a convenient Adder or garter snake available. They didn't exactly have a person to force into action available. She has other ideas though. 

A haunting smile lights up her face, similar to the look that he had gotten in the Chamber when she had asked him to come out of hiding. She speaks a spell softly and whips her wand to the side. A large horse erupts from the tip, a flame that is liquid, and creates a curse fire that is near blinding even in the daylight. She aims at the house, the large horse rears and charges forward insnaring everything in its way forward. It crashes through the front doors and chars the wood that makes up the steps and the brick crumbles around the entrance. There is the sound of loud screams and the place no doubt is starting to have an unstoppable fire spreading throughout it. Hermione walks slowly up the walkway, keeping to the side of the damage that she has done to the land. There is nothing but destruction to come, and they are going into the place. 

Tom decides there that she is mad. He had always suspected that she was a little unhinged but this proved it. She pulls him to the side as many of the people inside start rushing out. They pass them and Hermione yanks one of them that attempts to pass her. 

“Where can I find Dolores?” The maid looks at her with trembling lips, unable to pull away. 

“She is in her study…” Hermione looks into her eyes and then nods letting go. She can read minds... of course, she can. “Thank you, Dear. Come along Little Snake.” 

Tom steps around the burning coat rack. The fire has cleared a path straight through the middle of the home. He has never seen so many useless paintings and so much pink. It is nauseating, near disorientating with the smell of burning and the bright flames licking up the walls. Dark embers burning their way through the floorboards. All the paintings are cats and they all seem to be looking at him, through him. He knocks one into the nearest fire as it hisses at him.

What kind of person lived in this kind of house? He feels dirty just standing in it as he has walked into one of the girls changing rooms. But he doubts that even the girls from his time would allow something so gaudy. 

Hermione doesn’t say anything about his decision to blast a few off the walls at the elves that are trying to put the flames out, they scatter and it's best that they do. They are going to burn if they stay, not that he cares if they do or don’t. Herminoe is sending more flames forward with her wand. 

Fire can’t destroy a Horcrux so even if the place burns down, It will still be findable in the rubble. Her reasoning for burning it all down could be to cover what they were stealing or to deal a blow to the woman that they had come for. Tom would bet that it was a bonus that this would serve as another one of her little messages. It was one thing to read about the most wanted criminal Hermione Granger another to see her in action. There is a method to this he is sure, but only perhaps she can see it. 

They press their way further in. She climbs the stairs sending many of the degrees on the wall shattering to the floor. Tom shields himself from the glass. She is focused on the people above them and the glass helps to shower them as well. It's loud and chaotic. The few people in black on black cloaks return fire. Hermione ducks the first spell aimed at her. She gathers the glass and sends it forward like a bunch of tiny needles. 

The Death Eater blocks, the glass turning to sand. Tom sends a stunner forward at the nearest one and suddenly it's a flurry of spells. Quick and nonverbal, she moves fluidly weaving between them even in the tight space. He has a better time blocking than trying to dodge them.

Hermione gains them ground and Tom provides cover fire for the one that attempts to fire upward from the floor below. He has no idea how many there are in this place, but it seems big enough for there to be quite a few of them. 

He pants as the heat is rising and he can feel the heat. The wallpaper is crumpling upward and the candler comes down distracting his opponent. The banister explodes and Tom ducks down feeling the scraps of wood tear into his cloak. Hermione takes it and throws it back at her opponent; there is nowhere for the first one to dodge and as it hits him, she kills the one behind with a slicing hex. It's not one that he has ever heard of before. 

He uses a freezing hex and the Death Eater below freezes solid, and he shatters him with another sending meaty chunks scattering across what remains of the entranceway. Hermione steps over the corpses that will be burning soon. She has only a few hairs out of place on her face and she pushes them back in a calm manner. 

Tom follows her realizing that he really is out of practice all that time trapped in the diary has not been kind to him. They take two sharp turns to the left. 

“Useless.” A woman shrieks. “Put those fires out before they reach the books.” 

Hermione kicks the door open and there are a few stunners aimed their way that gets slapped out of their air as if they are small annoying flies. 

“You!” 

~/*\~ 

Hermione blocks the first spell that is aimed at her face, sending the second one back at the caster. There are a few house elves present. They scatter with quick pops despite the order for them to stop. They probably are not bound to her. The thought eases her conscience slightly not much, this was a high-value target. And she was one to avoid needless death. 

“Me.” She agrees making her way further into the room. Wand at the ready. Umbridge is not a dualist, she is a slimy, disgusting cockroach and she hates her perhaps in some ways equally to Voldemort. Still, it was best not to let her guard drop. There would be other unsavory people in this building. She was known to entertain Voldemort's lower members and snatchers. She called them heroes, if they brought her someone of interest she certainly rewarded them. 

“Filthy Mudblood.” She was as red as the flames that are starting to bleed into the room. 

“Let's not call names.” Hermione flicked her wand and the toads flew from her pudgy grip. “I think I could come up with far more insulting things to say about you, but then again you might like to be reminded of your deeds.”

Tom steps into the room and his wand pointed at the hall in case they had any unwanted guests. 

“You won’t get away with this.” She hisses, her face puffs up and Hermione fights the urge to laugh. 

“Why is it that your type always says that?” Hermione raises her eyebrow. “It gets old hearing so much praise of your evil actions , fills your head with ideas that you matter. When in reality the only ones that mattered are the ones that you sentenced to death.” 

She hits her with the cruiotus and watches her scream, such a simple spell that is so effective. Tom says nothing and she would have forgotten that he was there if he had not moved a little into her vision. 

“I wish I had more time to pay you back for all the deaths you caused, but unfortunately, I am on a schedule.” She stops the spell and the older woman twitches. “I will ask you this once and if you answer I will make your death quick. It is far more than a person like you deserves.”

“Go to hell.” The woman spits between gasps. 

“Eventually.” Hermione sighs bored of this already. “This is where you come in Apprentice, Dolores here is not wearing what we came for. Please extract that information.”

“Can you not use legilimens?” Tom asks, tilting his head. He is looking at the woman before him with not an ounce of sympathy, just like she is a chore. She can appreciate that honestly. A few of the others used to be disturbed by her methods, though she will admit that she is slowly snowballing down a slippery slope that she might not be able to keep herself always secure on. 

“I am more of a natural at Occlumency, you may recall that it took me a great deal of time to sort memories out in the Chamber. I know that you are a natural and it might be faster...” She draws her answer out “I can do it if you are unable. This might not be a case where your tracking ability is necessary.”

He scowls at her. “I can do it.” 

There is that look again, the one that tells her that he wants to be of use to her. It's not something he will admit out loud, but something that she has come to note in the slight changes of his face. 

He forces the woman over by hitting her hard with a stinging hex. His eyes flash a darker color and he is motionless, Umbridge goes still for a few seconds, and then Tom turns to her blinking a few times. I know where to find it.” 

Yes, she had made the right decision having him try it. She doesn’t want to play the long game of digging around, nor does she want to touch the monster in pink. 

“Please retrieve it. I will see if there is anything worth salvaging here.” The second he takes off in a jog she turns back to her captive. “I really would love to see your soul sucked out by a dementor but that is just not going to happen.”

“I was right about you all those years ago when I said you were unhinged and deserved to be punished.” Umbridge has made it to a kneel. And Hermione snaps the arm that she is using to support herself and ignores the scream taking the break to look over the books and pulls a few lists from the shelves. 

“Hit lists really?” She flips through them, some are blotted out with large red lines. She can see the large Xs over some of her dearest friends and practical family. She feels that horrible chill entering her bones, the type of cold fury that is hard to control as it seeps through her. The words are the pictures in there. She takes a very deep breath, magic flaring up around her. 

The original idea to burn her alive seems so kind now, so kind in comparison to what should be done. There are so many faces, so many people with large angry marks on them. Their deaths are descriptions written for the world to read, the thoughts vile.

“Every single one deserves it.” The spiteful woman hisses out. “Did you pick that little mutt up recently? I know there was quite a collection of your kind recently. He seems well trained, though most of your breed are capable of at least being tamed.”

“He is a half-blood like you, are you a well-trained animal as well?” Hermione will not lower herself to playing the talking game. Not when Tom can overhear her. “I wonder how tight your leash has become, your ambitions certainly have started to choke you haven’t they?”

If the woman thought that she could keep talking like that she was mistaken. Hermione silences her and hits her with another cruito. She can see Molly frowning at her for this act. She can see Arthur in a similar boat agreeing telling her not to become the monster that she has full capability to be. But all she sees is their execution last February where they are holding onto each other the prime example of what happened to blood traitors. 

Anger sits well in her and she almost forgets herself, watching the woman's eyes bulge and hearing her voice become lost in the noise of the fire and her thoughts. Tom comes back to her, the locket in his fist dangling and she remembers herself. She smiles despite everything, it's quite useful to have someone to do things for her. Her little Snake is resourceful and quick to get what she needs done. 

“Thank you.” She takes it from him and he looks at least a little pleased with himself, even as it stops being so pronounced as she pets his head a little. She transfigures the woman into a toad and scoops her up into a small jar. The one leg is crooked from her previous work. 

“Hold on tight now.” 

She takes him by the arm and he stumbles in surprise as she activates the portkey that he has dangling from around his neck. It's a rush of motion and air as they are taken to her home. The tile feels nice under her feet and the cooler air. The house would be burned down and Voldemort even if he searched would not find what she claimed to have had in her possession. 

She has one.

She has one of the wretched soul shards in her hand and Umbridge. 

She has only 3 to go. The snake, the diadem, and whatever lay hidden in that vault. Then she can truly start her project to topple the Dark Lord and free Europe from his reign of terror. It would take dismantling, she is already getting ahead of herself, but it's the first battle that she has won in a while. Possibilities are endless on what she can do with Umbridge. One stands out pretty well though above the others and she feels that it would be almost poetic justice in a way. Even if it would be a needless venture to what could be possibly dangerous for her health.

She could see him. She could take just a peek at the castle; it had been so long, the place had been rebuilt from nearly the ground up but she bets that the passages still stand. The cloak is one that with proper enchantments to muffle her she will be invisible to everything. She sets the jar down on the counter and lets her hand drop from the necklace. 

Tom is close, still slightly smaller than her, lanky and with blood on his cheek from the wood or glass splinters. She turns back to him, and while not sharing her enthusiasm he seems to at least be relieved by her happiness over the whole thing. She pulls the kitchen table’s seat out. 

“Sit.” She presses lightly on his shoulders. “I will heal you.” 

He sits rigidly. “I don’t need healing, it's only a scratch.” 

Boys always wanted to look strong. So Childish… 

She remembers Harry telling her the same things, he would have broken ribs and he would still want to keep fighting, not wanting to slow her down when it was smaller with deep scrapes or cuts. When the infections had set in when they were in the woods she had never feared so greatly for his life. Things were simpler then. 

She summons some of her potions to herself. “I will not have anything scar on my watch.” 

She brushes the slightly dirty hair out of his face and he says nothing, eyes cold and watchful. He looks slightly like Harry, that same untamed hair, those big eyes. Sharp angles and dark black under the sockets making them look more hollow. Death she is used to it, the signs of beaten down individuals. She traces his cheek with the damp cloth to see how deep it went, there is a small bit of glass that shines in the blood like a teardrop. Tom shuts his eye as she gets close to it with her fingers. His hands tighten on his robe. 

She wonders how many unkind touches he has known, the way he shies from it, yet tries to stay still. She takes a few seconds longer than she needs to look at the curves to his face as she wipes the blood off and performs the basics. 

“There, all done.” She steps out of his space and he seems to let out a deep breath of relief. She turns from him and her attention to the toad that is trying to bump its way rather poorly to the edge. 

“What do you plan to do to her?” Tom asks standing and fixing his robe as if he has suddenly realized just how unpresentable he must look.

“Are you sure you wish to know?” Hermione tilted her head. “Most people are pretty disturbed by my acts of vengeance.”

She can picture Luna now in clarity and the way that she would get paler. Especially after Hermione had explained how it felt to die the first time or what it felt like to have dust and time pour itself into her body. She had taken vengeance on Goyle for his role in her first death. 

“I am not most people.” He says definitively.

“No.” She brushed past him ignoring the urge to touch him again. “You most certainly aren’t.” 

~/*\~

Tom recognizes the forest that they touch down in. The tall twisted trees welcome him. There is the sound of scattering and he has never seen so many webs. He realizes immediately where Hagrid's little pet must have run off to, and knows that it is no longer the size of a kitten. The Toad in the jar is panicking as Hermione just holds on tighter. The breeze shakes the webs, he can feel unseen eyes watching him. The ground has small dots moving across it, hundreds like a little road. 

“They hail me as their hero for slaying their enemy and perhaps for feeding them on occasion.” His teacher hums about something that he doesn’t know about and he wonders how many spiders were included in the they she mentioned. How many people had been brought to this location? She opens the lid to the jar and tosses her prisoner out onto the forest floor, waving her wand and muttering the counter curse. The Ministry official stands out in the forest with her pink clothing. She holds tightly her mangled bleeding arm. 

It's cold here, suddenly that chill becomes very apparent to him, and yet he doesn’t feel it anywhere but his cheeks. Hermione must have cast proper spells to keep him from getting cold. He hates the way in which she treats him like such a child. He was near of age and she could not be much older. Her care was not something that he needed, yet bringing it up and losing whatever favor he had earned was more foolish than beneficial. 

“Do you remember when you dragged me out into these woods?” Hermione plays with her wand. “You threatened to torture us. It wasn’t enough that you made my hand bleed or the other children.” She moves towards the nearest tree. “I thought that you were going to kill us for sure if my plan didn’t work. But then you got what was coming to you, didn’t you? The centaurs came and they were not pleased with what you did to their lands and what you called them.”

Umbridge looks around herself as there are the soft subtle noises of the forest around them. 

“You have sunk lower since then. Killing Muggle Borns and innocent people that you held grudges against. I can name several people that weren’t even on your Master’s list.”

The inquisitor snarls. “You will not get away with it. I will have you know that they deserved what they got and you will get yours.”

Tom can actually feel the magic around them, moving and shifting. This place was cursed, very cursed. What had been created in these woods since he had been a student? What corrupted magic had been practiced. 

“I already know I will.” Hermione says in a voice that is far older than what her body and his knowledge of her tells him that she is. “But till then I will keep eliminating the trash like you, making the wizarding world brighter.” That quote sounds very familiar like he had read it in one of the papers about building a better stronger wizarding world. Hermione takes one of the threads and shakes it hard. “I would start moving if I were you, there are a lot of creatures as you call them that are quite fed up with the likes of you. I wonder how far you will make it.” 

Tom smiles slightly at the flair for it. Though Hermione doesn’t seem too excited by her own actions. If anything she had only been happy about the locket. He knows that defeating Voldemort is her main goal and that she considered the rest necessary and a chore to her. 

The pale, small, ugly woman raises her finger and Tom can feel the ground shaking. Hermione moves closer to his side and drapes something over the top of them and moves them backward. At first, it looks like there is a tree moving, but it turns out to be legs. Large impossibly large legs. Of Course, the high inquisitor, the one that acted as judge, jury, and executioner starts to run. Run rather pathetically he might add. He is tempted to trip her, but the way that she is running she no doubt will fall. 

“How far is civilization?” He decides to ask.

“Fifty miles.” Hermione's curls brush against his cheek. 

~/*\~

Hermione starts planning near-instantly, the best way to get herself in and out of Gringotts. Having Tom come with her adds to the complexity. This mission was the main reason why she had traveled back in time to get him. She has no idea what in a large bank vault the object could be. There wouldn’t most likely be any marks nor would it be in plain sight. Voldemort had trusted his most faithful and most deranged follower to keep watch over it. A person that had several family vaults, and would no doubt have many darker enchantments that they would need to get past. Such enchantments usually would require a goblin and their magic to open. 

She had lost favor with a goblin before she ever had a good way to use it. The creature had died with Ron. It is a wound that still has not stopped causing her grief. How many lives would she have been able to save if she had gotten her hands on that Horcrux? 

At this point dwelling is pointless. She has better hope than she ever has had to accomplish the task. 

The easiest way to gain an audience might be to send Tom in and she would hide under Harry’s cloak. There was constantly people’s blood purity being called into question, and certain relations were good enough cause to demand a blood test. Yes, that would be the in to at least seeing one of them. She could imperious it from there, force it to take her to the vault she so chose. 

But after the next cycle. It had been a while and the wounds had started to open up again. She would be reliving time again, feeling the song of fates and things to come. When the flashes would be over and the end was unclear. Sometimes they lasted short stunts of a few days, to near a month. She did not fancy leaving Tom, but in her weakened and delirious state, there were few places that she would safely lock herself up in. 

She would need the peace to try and interpret the flashes. The threads are going to tangle worse than ever she was sure of it. She had brought in a variable that would and should perhaps not have been still on the board. The burning gave another warning as she called Hox to her. 

~/*\~

There is a small package on his bed a few weeks after their first mission. He awoke late, after a night of planning and reading. There is a small note attached to it in Hermione's delicate handwriting, the box feels heavy in his hand. 

__________________

_Needed to go away for a little while. I noticed you eyeing the old piano and I had Hox service it. These may prove useful to you, one for old songs of your time, one for songs written in the last century, and the other for you to try and write down your craft. ___

__𝓗_ _

_____________________ _

__The books are new, bound elegantly together. He perhaps has been eyeing the instrument more than he would care to admit. She hasn’t played in years it seems from the way there had always been things sitting on it. He takes the book of notes with him that seem familiar._ _

__“Hox.” He calls and there is a pop. The elf listening to him wasn’t something new exactly, but it came only when it wanted to. “Where is Hermione?”_ _

__“Mistress is busy.” Hox said plainly._ _

__“With what?” Tom narrows his eyes, it was not like her to just disappear._ _

__“None of Little Riddle’s concern.” It takes a lot of self control not to curse the thing or strangle it. None of the house elves he had ever met ever had such an attitude._ _

__“When will she be back?” He says coldly, taking a calming breath._ _

__“When Mistress is feeling better.” Hox responded in kind._ _

__“She is hurt.” He clarifies He doesn't know exactly how to feel if she is. He had come to terms with the fact that she might have been indestructible. Certainly able to bleed, but not able to die._ _

__“Hox can not say.” The elf avoids the question. “Hox will inform Riddle when she is coming back.”_ _

__It is not hard to be alone in the apartment for the first few days. Tom is used to being alone, just it becomes more apparent that you are alone when you become used to having another person around. Hermione had become a constant presence that was always a breath away from him. By the end of the first week, he starts to get worried that he has become something that is like that of a toy. Something that had worn out its new shininess and had been abandoned._ _

__It really would not have been the first time._ _

__It should not matter, but he knows that attempting to leave would be problematic. He has no doubt in Hermione's ability to track him down. So he has to endure. Just like he had at Wools least here he can distract himself with books._ _

__Still as time ticked on it really started to feel like he had been discarded._ _

__Tom had often collected the small things that no one wanted or would not know they were missing at both Hogwarts and Wool’s. Small things that were everyday items that were forgotten about. Small blades and glass vials that he could use for his potions, quills that he could preen to look new and save himself some of his coin from the school. He had become one of those things to her, he was sure of it. She did not send him a word, only kept things neat and home-like. He resented her, he resented her greatly for doing this to him. Bringing him to this time, teaching him, and treating him humanely only to strip it away. He is just grateful that he did not allow himself to get too attached to her. He had never trusted people for a reason, especially adults, even now that he was close to being one, he is reminded of the very reason that he should not trust._ _

__Hox had become fed up with him and avoided him. Not listening to his summonings, so a pit had formed in him. He could describe it very similarly to how he had felt when his other self had left him in the diary and stopped writing to him. The anger was easy to describe, easy to handle but as it faded it left him with this awful feeling._ _

__The feeling had returned with a viciousness. This feeling was a gnawing, painful sensation of emptiness, a compelling need for company, a longing, a void, ravenous, and desolate. In the diary, there had been nothing to fill it, no conversations, no memories worth revisiting. So had the four walls around him become uninhabited, deserted, forsaken place without attention, without console, without understanding, and without peace._ _

__It didn’t matter what he did… This isolation was somehow worse._ _

__He took to breaking the wards on the books he probably should not have gotten to and messing around with the pensive after many days of following Hermione’s advice and feeding the raven that liked to sit in the study he could get away with it. He looks through memories, and while not being an act of maliciousness. It was betraying what might have been her trust in him and he doesn’t feel remorse for it as she had abandoned him first._ _

__~/*\~_ _

__

___She can feel it. The electricity running through each nerve of her body. The flow of life through each vein. The abundance of air in her lungs, passing through her nose and exhaling through her mouth._ _ _

___Up ahead, there is no air. No life. Yet she still walks, each step magnifies the dryness of her soul. Life drains second after second. Yet still pressing forward, all ways forward. In the end there is a darkness so cold and unforgiving, it can only bear home to the dead._ _ _

___She reaches out with her small hand._ _ _

___Waiting, waiting..._ _ _

___The last drops of life, soul melting and mind crumbling under the pressure of the cold and the passage of lines around her. Warmth, when her hand reached back, landed on the threads that she can see, the one bought with blood, welcomed like summer back into wintery lands._ _ _

___Her hair waved in the air, her nose could breathe once more. Memories drift, times, and souls. She approaches, the end of the darkened hallway, the webs woven like nets trapping the small lights around her._ _ _

___Her skin lit as fire. She bites hard her lips as Life kicks back. Electricity and magic runs on the surface of her heart. Life beats back inside of each parcel of her being. She holds the warm memories of people around her, tightly against her breast. Swearing to never let go, promising to always protect the light. Yet, she slowly fades. No matter how she tries to hold onto the desired lines, her friends, her family, It all is fleeting for there is nothing left to hold._ _ _

___Unknown faces look to her, they are the future, and she has yet to find a way to save them. The largest knot forms near the end. Where all threads tie together, the end of everything. Four lines exit it. Her line stretching out forever, the black cord, and the vivid green. The new cord though is red and split from the others. It's the cord that is tangled to the larger thread that leads to the event._ _ _

___She plucks it and can hear it sing to her. The warmth that she had felt not so long ago when she had arms wrapped around her._ _ _

___“ Severus...?”_ _ _

__~/*\~_ _

__It is a small vial different than the ones that were set up he thinks for revisiting memories of experiments. The silver inside of it almost has a black like tint to it. For some reason, it calls him to it much more than any of the others he has looked through._ _

__

__He opens it and pours it slowly and carefully into the pensive. There is the twisting of the place around him and then there is nothing. It is a memory of a sacred world, of red dust, and debris. The air feels as though it burns each breath, there are no sounds. Nothing not even in the diary were things this silent._ _

__

__All is quiet, and then there is heartache so LOUD that it must be a sound. He finds himself clutching his chest right along with the figure that is standing there in the sands that shift. Gold, bright, red, and angry. It feels like emptiness begging to be filled, but by what he is not sure. The woman next to him is crying horribly loud gut-wrenching sobs, and he feels the burn in his eyes nearly overtake him._ _

__There aren't quite enough words to describe it._ _

__‘Can someone help me?’_ _

__‘Take this pain away!’_ _

__The tears pour out of his eyes, mixing with the dirt on his face from the atmosphere. He knows this to be the end of the world that Hermione must have seen but it feels real, horribly so. The world tilts itself to the fire at night. She is huddled into that robe that she had covered them both under._ _

__‘Does anyone miss me?’ Her voice is rough and hard on the ears. She is playing with that fake locket that she always wore. ‘Would anyone care?’_ _

__The thoughts are intrusive and they are not just his own he knows but her in this moment as well. This feeling burns with its wretchedness and leaves nothing but distress. The world around them is lamenting. The Loneliness of this place is deafening. It feels like there is no hope. A feeling of being unfit, disposed of, undesirable, unlovable and rejected fills him with horrid memories of his childhood._ _

__He wants out of the memory but no matter how he tries to wake himself it will not allow him to leave the pensive, sometimes that could happen with memories that were too powerful but that was all this was a memory and one that was not his own. He had to remember that as she stands and starts to move with a determination that is unyeilding._ _

__As he is pulled along he can not help but wonder. ‘How are you expected to live, at the point when nobody hears your breath, At the point when nobody. NOBODY. Would even observe your death, care, nor mourn it?_ _

__‘Where do you go, at the point when life, by all accounts, is over? Walking aimlessly, no map, no direction, and have no idea how long you will have to walk this path. When will it ever end? There is no end. No light. It’s darkness.’_ _

__And Tom has trapped himself in this memory. He can see her slowly going mad. Grabbing things that are useless and scribbling things out. There is fear, anxiety, uncertainty. The tears mark her face. That never goes away, she doesn’t take care of herself and she bleeds shimmering golden light as she tries to end it again and again._ _

__It feels that it’s never going to end, this existence is insignificant. And it feels futile to even continue on. And he can not pull out of it. He is part of whatever this is now._ _

__~/*\~  
Bright light, dispriating light. _ _

__He panics and tries to jerk away from the things in the room that feel unfamiliar to him. There are two arms wrapped tightly around him._ _

__“Tell me 3 things that you see or hear.” The voice commands him through the static and hysteria that is over taking his mind._ _

__He focuses on the first thing, the floor, wooden, old, and scuffed._ _

__“F-Floor...” He manages._ _

__“Good Little Snake, what else?”_ _

__It is quiet but there is sound to this silence, the ticking of the clock and the hum of the trains outside. He suddenly feels as if everything is clicking back on. He is awake from what feels like the longest nightmare that he has ever had._ _

__“Trains and the Raven.”_ _

__“That's right you are here, you are safe.”_ _

__The voice is soft comforting and he recognizes it even with his tired mind. He is on the floor with the person that he has not seen in a long time. Well not physically, he has seen her wander for what feels like an eternity. He can feel their breathing, the warmth of her being pressed against him and her heartbeat separate from his own. It doesn’t even register that he should pull away. It just feels like an eternity since he has been able to feel anything or even the touch of another person. And it’s kind touch amazing how disarming that can be. He feels small, like a child. A very small child and in desperate need of comfort. And he lets himself be held. Feels nothing but warmth and security which is such a comparison to the void he had been trapped in, makes him feel as if he is on fire._ _

__He was never messing with the pensive again. He resolves to keep to books and less harmful things that he understands. At least for now._ _

__“I am very disappointed in you.” The voice is soft against his ear. “Looking through my things, and making messes for Hox. I would punish you but I feel like you did that rather nicely to yourself and I might be physically unable at the moment.” The grip around his middle tightens and he can’t exactly pull away without perhaps putting himself into a worse position. She didn’t seem to want to let him go. “Why would you play with my memories?”_ _

__Hermione’s head is leaning against his and he takes in a soft breath, not wanting to anger her. He knows perfectly well what she is capable of. “You left.”_ _

__“Yes that happens with me.” She sounds so tired and feels heavy against him. “I did not want you to see me this way.”_ _

__He dares to shift the hold to see the small puddle that was forming around them, golden light. It's so beautiful in a chilling way, her back is covered with golden strands that beed out bits of blood. Her eyes are unfocused._ _

__“You’re…” He is not exactly sure what to call it. It's not really a lot of blood, yet the wounds are leaking what seems to be magic, potent magic._ _

__“Adjusting to the magic that sits in me again.” She mumbles into his hair. “I had to leave my usual place because you decided to mess with some of the memories I have stored in here.”_ _

__He reaches out and touches it. It burns his hand slightly, and he is reminded of the texture of liquid luck or unicorn blood._ _

__“I am going to pass out now and you are going to help me get to my room. It's the least that you can do.”_ _

__He feels angry at that statement. “You left,'' He emphasizes, “with no explanation. You can’t blame me for this.”_ _

__“Such a brat you are. I have done much more than I could or should have for you.” She lets go of him. “Hox.”_ _

__The elf looks between them and Tom can see the contempt on its small face._ _

__“I didn’t say that I wouldn’t help you.” He hurries on, self-preservation taking full effect. He helps her onto her feet and she scowls at him but does not turn down his help reaching her destination._ _

__~/*\~  
She wakes with her sheets clinging to her. Hox is sitting near the foot of the bed. She feels near sick from the endless loops that time threw her through. She takes deep breaths to bring herself to get up, at least there was nothing on her back._ _

__“Mistress, they have stopped.” Hox greets respectfully._ _

__“Yes.” She can feel that her body readjusting to the magic in her veins. She holds her head in her hands as she takes a few seconds to let the pieces and everything she has seen fall into place. “Where is Tom?”_ _

__“Riddle is in his room, Hox told him to stay away.”_ _

__“Probably for the best you did so.” Hermione stands on shaking legs. “Advise him not to bother me for at least a day. I might have the undying urge to curse him for going through my memory cabinet.”_ _

__“Hox, thinks you are too kind to the little one.” Her elf sniffs. “He is undisciplined, demanding, and ungrateful.”_ _

__“Thank you for your observations.” Hermione doesn’t argue with the creature. Hox would see a different side to Tom that she would. She also knows that Hox is a bitter older elf that doesn’t like humans in general and only served Hermione because she did not treat him as an inferior being._ _

__“Anytime.” Hox bows respectfully. “Hox has taken the liberty to lay you clothes out, and started a bath.”_ _

__Hermione grabs the robe. Yes the bath will do wonders. “You are such a good elf Hox, I would be lost without you after these cycles.”_ _

__“Hox is glad to hear it.” The little creature opens the door for her and she avoids looking at Riddle’s closed door. “Can Hox help with anything else.”_ _

__“I could use some of my potions, a pain reliever and a pepper up potion.” She opens the door to the bathroom and feels the towels with her fingers._ _

__The elf eagerly ran off to do as he was asked and she closed the door dropping the robe and the remaining clothing. Summoning a pack of her cigarettes to her as she dips her toes into the water. She likes it holding it between her lips before taking in a large huff._ _

__Perhaps she was too soft… and perhaps there was not changing something that had spent 50 years in a diary. She took another drag. She supposes that she can offer one more test to see if it is really worth it to be kind or to just follow along with her blackening heart demanded. Tom would need to show her he was capable of remorse._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support and wonderful comments. 
> 
> Severus appears next chapter!


	11. Gorgonize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that it's been a while. I have gotten a new job and it has been quite a lot... 
> 
> I am very happy to have the chance to write this one!!!

She avoids Riddle for the day. Heading out to a place that only she can get to under the cloak. Her body still aches, but if she was to get into a scuff she was sure she would come out victorious. There are few people that she fears to duel. The lake is nice. She had taken many walks around it with Severus and her friends when she was younger. She can trace steps here, figure out what her visions mean without the searing pain of time burning through her veins. 

Death had warned her...but it wasn't like she wanted to leave, in fact, it was the opposite. He was simply the one from the wrong place and the wrong time, and she was simply given no other choice. 

Every so often, she'd come back here. Just hidden, drowning in regrets from the battle and watching the reconstruction. It had rained rivers and oceans, the droplets hitting the ground in puddles and creating ripples across the water. And if she tried hard enough, she could almost hear his footsteps walking next to her. She can see herself sitting under one of the trees reading as Luna or Harry went exploring or Neville prattled on about plants. 

The person she desires to be with more than anyone is locked up in the castle that she is close to. She would have come here after she had allowed the forest to do what it did best, dispose of things, but Tom had been with her. She had no want to reminisce where someone can see her being weak over it. She grips the tall pine, feeling the sap and the cold. It is warm for winter, even though it brings something bitter to her thoughts. Something that brings a feeling behind her eyes. She could almost hear his whispers as he took her hand, nearly feeling the warmth on her hip of where he used to place his hand. 

As the rain continued to fall around her, she let out a shuddered breath as she looked downwards at her feet. Her throat tightening up as she felt the tears sting her eyes and she will not cry, not even with her lips trembling as she thought of her mistakes that she made so long ago that there is no chance of a happy future between them. And yet their threads are tangled, meaning that they will meet again, something big will happen. Severus’s thread is tied at the end with hers. He will be with her when the world ends it seems, so will Tom, and so will Voldemort. The end of everything is not avoided yet. In fact, she thinks she has accelerated it. Though she can not tell what she has changed so drastically in the past. 

Things have shifted around, but nearly everything is the same. She is still in this godforsaken timeline where everything is destined to burn. She hugged herself as she leaned against the tree, its bark digging into her back. She has hope some small amount of it, that if she can get the rest of the Horcruxes if she destroys them if her little Snake could not absorb them, everything will be okay. 

The smell of damp wood enveloped her as she stared out across the lake, her heart aching as she wished and hoped that maybe she'd see him. She didn’t know what she would say should she see him, she didn't know if she should even expose herself but she did want to see him. 

~/*\~

She sits across from him in the Kitchen at the table that has been set for tea. These sorts of meetings are always a risk. Not for her of course, her vows have many more loopholes to exploit than his. Half the reasons that he listened to her was because of that little burning spell that felt like magma was flowing through his nerves. It was enough to make him grit his teeth through any of her dismissive moments with him. He knows they are playing a small game to what ends other than Voldemort’s death he doesn’t claim to know. Hermione plays her cards tightly to her chest and even if she treats him as a child, he knows that she doesn’t underestimate him. She gives him tools, but none that would spell a shift in their power dynamic. He is content to play by most of her rules, they give him little insights to her. 

He has been spending months gaining little things about her. Her left eye twitched when she was annoyed but did not want to let on, he can see through the fake smiles, and he can pick up on when he has said something that endears him to her. She is lonely first and foremost. The memories have exposed him to some of her weaknesses. Hermione was quite good at lying to perhaps herself as much as him. She has tried to kill herself, he has seen her grief and some of the darker things that she has done in retribution. 

But he knows more than anything that she is lonely, and she has dragged him into that mess. Tom would never have felt lonely should she not have been toying with him. Her kindness was poisonous and he had become quickly addicted to it. Even if it was partially built on a lie, her softness to him is a direct result of them both spending near eternity alone. In her case, she is more than a time traveler and in his being a soul trapped in a journal for 50 years. 

It does not stop her from viewing him as a child, and perhaps in comparison to her, he was. But he would lie if he did not find it demeaning. He folded his hands under his chin as he watched Hox pour some of the tea for them. The elf’s long spindle-like fingers were graceful in a way, practiced, disciplined, and made a cup of tea that was better than anything that he had ever tasted at Hogwarts or outside of it. Not that he really ever had money to spend on nonessentials. He had always needed to be frugal. Something that his real father could have helped with had he not been the sort to think that he was below him. 

Muggles. Tom's lips twitched thinking about them. Their neighbors judging by what he had seen out the window are all nonmagical. 

She raises an eyebrow at him and he feels like strangling her to just tell him what was going on and if she was going to hurt him, he almost wished she would just skip the pleasantries of it. He feels that slight tingle of warning from the spells he is under and he decides to focus on the elf for a moment instead. 

“Are we just going to sit in silence?” He looks back to her as the cup is placed in front of her. His lip curls slightly. 

“No.” She responds after a bit. “I don’t think it will do us any good to avoid talking about things. You no doubt have questions and I can answer some of them depending on my generosity. I am owed an explanation of why you thought that you could go through my things and if I don’t hate the answer I think I can spare us all a lot of problems.” 

He is curious about the blood if one could even call it that. He has run a few tests in his room with limited supplies. It’s not like he was going to get to work in the office's small potions area. Hox had been suspicious when she found him cleaning up, he had just managed to convince it that he had felt bad enough to try and fix some of the mess. 

“You left.” He tried to find the right words. “Never bothered to explain anything. I needed answers.”

“So you sought them out for yourself.” She sighed deeply. “Why and I am not surprised.”

“Keeping a Slytherin in the dark is asking for them to seek out holes and what you're hiding in it.” Tom shrugs, trying to keep it casual but completely aware that while looking reserved she was capable of acting out in an instant. The scariest thing Hermione could be was completely calm. He knew from the pensive that she was Griffendor at any rate. 

She folded her hands in front of her. “Inquisitive natures have led lots of people to ruin. Apprentice.” 

She was still calling him that so at least he was going to live… He let out a shaky breath. “Yes but nothing is gained by playing it safe.” 

“No but there is a lot to be lost. Humanity for one. Splitting your soul was very experimental wasn’t it?” She raises an eyebrow.

He feels like he has just slammed on the breaks. He needed to backpedal or just press through this conversation. He isn’t exactly sure what the best option is. He took a deep breath. “Yes, and it was a gamble that probably played out well for the other parts of me. I for one would not be here if I didn’t take the risk years ago.”

“So you wouldn’t say you regret it?” She tilts her head. 

Yes that cold feeling is the noose that is around his neck, slowly being tightened. She would know if he was lying though even if he tried to conceal it. He has shields to stop her from reading surface level thoughts, but there was always something unnerving and unsettling in her gaze. It left many like a book. Gold hints to those brown eyes making it impossible to look away.

“No. I can’t regret what has allowed me to live. I can sympathize with the unfortunate events that caused me to be made. I can’t feel remorse for it.” 

“And you can not feel remorse for attacking my students?”

“Your friends were poor choices in targets.” He corrects he had seen enough to know that they were more than students. Her eyes darken, well he might as well as hang. 

“I know that you are capable only of regret if it directly affects you. Perhaps you can sympathize or come close to understanding what someone is feeling without actually experiencing it. If I put you into the same situation as your victims do you think that you could feel remorse?” 

“Is this hypothetical?” He clears his dry throat.

She shakes her head. “I have to know if I have to destroy the soul shards or if you can absorb them. Time is running out I fear and I will feel better not having more than one soul shard around.” 

“And this has to do with whether you will tell me just what the hell is going on? My empathy is that important?” He tightens his hold on the table. 

“It matters to me if you can empathize with those that you have hurt. It matters if you can feel remorse. I trusted you and you broke that brittle trust. This would gain it back at the very least that you would try it.” 

“Are You asking me or telling me what you are going to do?” He takes a small breath.

“Perhaps I am just warning you.” Hermione doesn't touch her drink and he can see that it is going cold. His drink is also. “Things are better if you agree, forcing you would break the fragile trust that you have in me not to hurt you without reason.” 

‘But I don’t really have a choice.’ Tom can read between the lines. He is so very used to having no choice in anything. So this was to be his punishment, not just horrible nightmares of a wasteland and creeping loneliness. He shuts his eyes. “What does this entitle?” 

~/*\~ 

She doesn’t hate him. She had certainly hated the boy in front of her at one point. She had considered doing this very test to him the second that he had exited that Diary. Give him the taste of the Imperious curse so he would know how helpless Ginny Weasley had felt when he had caused her to do atrocious acts. This idea sort of built on this. Built on it by showing just what it was like to be petrified. She had been tempted to leave him days like that, struggling on in the state. She had thought it would be fitting considering there were at least 8 total victims that had befallen the basilisk she had killed and taken some of the parts from. 

Remorse was important to her. She had seen the lines, she had seen who was to be at the end. She is desperate to either mend his soul, or she knows that she most likely will need to kill him to stop the line that shows Voldemort continuing on. She will not leave an opening that Tom could be possessed and used as a vessel or anchor that part to earth. She had fixed so to speak the soul shard that Tom was, purely by stealing another to mend the damage. It was not exactly fool proof and certainly would not get passed Purgatory. But it is enough of a soul to have a normal body and sound enough mind. She likes her apprentice well enough. She had not expected to. It was the reason finding him messing with her memories was troubling. 

Not surprising… Not really, but unwanted and slightly stinging. When a person was truly spitted for the first time, seeds were sown in the heart. The seeds given the right environment grow, what emerges from them is not a beautiful sight. A monstrous, parasitic rose, bearing venomous thorn daggers and endless vines like a legion of snakes which choked and constricted her heart, thorns pressing into every muscle. Soon, she had begun to hate even her own loved ones. She hated them for leaving her so soon. She hated the adults for refusing to let her help when she was younger. She hates the games with lives that were played, the secrecy, and the feeling of being completely alone. She never had a childhood. They had no reason to keep it all from them. Harry would perhaps be still alive if they had not wasted time, people pointlessly. She hates Dumbledore for this. She hates Voldemort for placing her in this bind where she has no choice but to let time flow the way it is supposed to. She hates that she can’t be with Severus. She hates that he has to be alone. And She hates the vines that no matter how she may hack away at the growths to remove them, they will eternally grow back, like the heads of the mythical Hydra...to make her suffer forevermore.

These visions, these timelines, she sees and navigates are starting to drive her mad as every ending is the same. It used to be comforting that she knew what lines to cut and which ones she could get away with changing but with every push and every pull there was another problem. 

And so there can be another answer, make Tom absorb the shards, and at least there would be nothing as an anchor beside him. No chance the monster she has seen can return. And so she will do a few tests. She will place him into some of the same situations that she had been in, with the madman that he had become and the part of him that she is familiar with. 

She had been petrified. There were reasons that even after everything that she still had nightmares. Of the few things in her childhood that she had to be scared of the dark and the inability to move while being trapped in it was near overwhelming. She can still feel so to speak the way that her friends were around her during that time. She can hear their words and encourage them. She can recall learning to walk again, drink, and swallow. It came back naturally to her, not so much for a few others. The coma-like state was just enough of a hell to make studying for finals her near only drive to be a functional human being again. Of course, finals were canceled anyway and she had felt slighted for all the extra effort. 

She would not be leaving Tom in that state for long, just enough to issue the feeling of being trapped in the body, the memory would be very reminiscent of this. She felt confident that the action toppled with some vague instructions under a variant of the imperious that did not send nice feelings for following the command would certainly help him at least grasp what others had been through. 

~/*\~

The test starts with her placing the locket on his person. He can feel the small bit of his soul twist around in there. He isn’t quite sure it even truly belongs to him. It whispers something awful and indistinguishable and he does not fancy being alone with the thing for long periods of time. It's not that terrifying of a thought to be controlled for a few moments. He doubts that she will do anything to truly make him hurt himself. So really cannot be that bad. 

Still even when he knows what to expect, the spell cleans out his mind, it's like everything is a fog. Where things are unshaped and he can not exactly think straight there are little nudges. None of them are pleasant, they are more like demanding intrusive thoughts. It feels very weird to have limbs moving without one's control. Tom had always liked things to be in his control. Call it lack of control in his childhood where everything from his clothes, his food, and hair were dictated for him. Even here to an extent. 

It ends and he still feels nothing but annoyance. The spare room is pitch black. A large illusion shows in front of him. He knows that Hermione is gifted in creating these images and misty pictures. She has used them before to create three-dimensional maps. The snake hisses and the yellow eyes are large and staring into his. He has never feared snakes, even the basilisk. When it had spoken to him, listened to him, it had been one of the few times in his life that he had felt powerful. True power as the times he enforced his will at Wools never did too many favors. 

He reaches out to it and lets that paralysis take over him. Petrified, was what he had done to many students. That part was not something that he had thought would be part of the equation. It's not horrible at first. Not much different than the curse before it. Except where he could see where he was going before and hear whispers telling him what to do there wasn’t any of that. It was just darkness, and there was no way to move. He took a few calming breaths and found that breathing didn’t even feel like it was possible. He can't even move his eyes or open them. His heartbeat is the only thing he can really hear. 

~/*\~

Hermione has Hox monitor Tom with spells. She takes the time to stake out the bank and meet with an old acquaintance. It keeps her mind off knowing just how horrible being petrified was, and how unkind being tapped with one's thoughts, it's a monstrous state to be in. She would say though that the future apocalypse is worse. He will not be in that state for more than 3 days. She has no want to drive him mad. Only long enough that he might feel remorse over his actions. 

Diagon Alley has changed since she was a little girl, she drifts through the crowds under her cloak. Taking in the lack of sounds. This place used to be bustling with Wizards and Witches, especially nearing the holidays. Now it is run-down shops and people looking around them for any sign of snatchers or ‘Ministry’ Officials. She passes the old bookstore and sees the boarded-up windows, there seems to have been a fire recently. She steps over the glass and brushes at the burned door frame. 

A shame…

She shifts past a few robed figures that are blocking the entry to Knockturn alley. It's always interesting when people that used to be more powerful or influential fall out of favor of society and have something to offer. Ludo bagman is not a man that she wanted to breathe the same air as for long periods of time. He was Sleazy, weak-willed, and a coward. He however had dealings with goblins and not all of them were the trustworthy kind. She needed one for the purpose of getting past some of the enchantments. Even with a Goblin that was impreioused she was looking at spells that could kill her and Riddle.

Death was an inconvenience that she could not afford nor was she interested in being trapped in a vault for a century waiting for Bella’s long distant relative to check over her hoard. She moved slowly towards one of the day bars. In this day and age, it wasn’t exactly something that was as shady as one would think. The world was full of little hellholes. 

Bagman has sat in the very far corner, a very large looking goblin seems to be getting fidgety. There are a few other creatures gathering near him. The older Goblin is well dressed and has large spectacles that remind her of Dumbledores. Actually, now that she is looking at them close enough they might have been one of his pairs of reading ones. 

She pulls the seat out and throws down her hood. “Good evening gentleman, or should I say morning.” 

The Goblin gives a very small pointed smile. “Morning it is then. Bagman here seems to think that you are in need of my special services.”

She has not met this Goblin before but he looks to be from some of the older Goblin families that did not believe in Banking for Wizards. They were the type that entered trades and his suit reflects craftsmanship. The rings on his fingers are house rings taken from Wizards that they no doubt silenced years ago in the Goblin wars or from those that owed them quite a bit. No one wanted to have deals with a Goblin but if someone was truly desperate they might not be able to do anything else than take a loan from the sharks. 

“I might be.” Hermione tilts her head. “I suspect that Bagman here owes you some coin as well.” 

“Yes.” The Goblin says snidely, “He does.” 

“So we perhaps can cut out the middle man for only introducing us?” Hermione gestured “Between you and me, he seems like the ratting type.” 

The Goblin barked a laugh. “He can’t leave I will have coin or his blood.”

“Blood then perhaps.” She is not about to debt herself to this creature for Bagman. He picked his paths. “To business then I am in need of a Goblin of high skill to help me break into a vault.”

The creature folded its long fingers and cleared its throat. “Too soft my kind became bowing to wizards and a madman’s delusions.” The thin hands tightened on themselves. “There is gold to be had I am sure with your robbery nor would I feel, how do humans put this, ‘apologetic’ if a few of my kin were put out of their misery. The question becomes can we come to an arrangement?”

She hummed. “I am to steal an artifact of great importance to myself; anything else in the vault is irrelevant nor valuable to me. I would not pretend to know what is in the vault that I would be venturing into, but I am sure that you would like something more than gold. There is gold to be had anywhere, and taking too much from the vault may bring unwanted attention forward.”

“The kind that has red eyes I am sure. Birds have told me that you are causing him quite the headache.” The thin finger pointed to her and the silver ring caught the light. 

“Oh. I am sure you have heard all about the disappearance of Dolores Umbridge.” 

A wicked smile overtook its face, teeth near splitting the bottom lip. “An interesting marking you carved into the grass, quite the calling card.” 

Drinks were brought over by the only human besides herself and bagman in the place. She knows that it would be rude not to accept, and she knows that there is a certain honor so to speak among thieves in this profession. Not that she will trust them one bit. Greed is in a Goblin’s nature. 

“I do so strive for attention.” She pretends to be proud. 

“Number one most wanted Ms. Granger.”

She laughed while taking the drink. “As I said, but I don’t think you are so despite to catch me that you would do anything foolish.”

“I am a betting man.” The Goblin met that amusement, “Not a gambler, I am aware that some think you are more powerful than he that we will not name. I am willing to bet that you will end him, or at least keep denting his defenses for someone else to finish the job.” 

“Such complements, such flattery.” She smiles taking a small sip vanishing the liquid that entered her mouth the second that it landed. She became serious. “Do me a favor and tell me what it is that you would like me to trade you for your services.”

“Ah I love when a Witch wants to get right to the point.” It grunted. “I am a collector of various older artifacts, returning them to their proper producers and their families. I have heard that you have a particular sward in your possession.” 

Goblins harbored very different feelings about ownership than wizards, they considered the true owner of an object to be its maker rather than its purchaser, whom they saw as simply renting the object until their death, and resented the passing of goblin-made heirlooms through wizarding families without further payment. It made perfect sense to her for him to want it back. Not that she would give it to him. 

“No.” She says flatly. “Name another object.” 

The Goblin practically growled at her. But she would not give up one of the things that gave her an edge literally against Voldemort. 

“Wrivic…” Bagman tried and the Goblin turned his small head and the man immediately shut up. 

“The locket.” Wrivic spat. He pointed to the locket that hung against Hermione’s chest. 

He would be able to tell this was fake if he were to hold it, it wouldn’t sound magically correct. But then she would possibly be able to give him the real one should Tom get his soul out of the Damned thing. She didn’t necessarily want to become an enemy of the Goblins by insulting Wrivic. 

“That is a deal I am willing to make.” She nodded. “It serves nothing but being fashionable to me. If you help me to get what I want it’s yours and whatever else the vault has to offer that might seem priceless to the Goblin you send down with me.” 

Wrivic hissed in a pleased way. “This might be doable then which vault is it that you wish to crack into?”

“I will send one of my Ravens in 3 days. It will give you further instructions. It will sit on the bar top and you will if you agree to the set terms mark the parchment accordingly. Don’t attempt to have anyone but yourself retrieve it. ” She warned. 

“I will await it in 3 days, this deal is one I am interested in.” Wrivic held up one of his wrinkly hands to her. “I have wanted that piece for a while.” 

“Truly?” She raised an eyebrow.

“One of a kind, smithed by my late father.”

“Then it rightfully does belong to you, not that I am willing to hand it right over.” Despite her refusal to just give it over, the creature doesn’t mind. He seems to be very fine with their little arrangement. “In the meantime look into someone that will be willing to take our gamble. I have been here long enough here, most wanted and all that.” 

~/*\~

The darkness relents. He has followed a small crack of light and now he feels flooded. Like a door has opened to him and he can see through the eyes of another. A world that is like that he knows but different. It's changed somehow, like the passage of time has changed things he can observe from his window. 

He is tumbling through different scenes flashing. Death so much death. The ruin of Hogwarts. Hermione wiping spells around her as she jumped off of the bridge near Hogwarts and disappeared in a crack. An older version of the boy that he has seen before in the Chamber staring him down, tears streaking out of Green eyes. 

“Before you try and kill me, try for some remorse, I have seen what you become if you don’t.” He can see himself reflected in those green eyes, so has the boy grown, so has he raised his wand to try and defend himself. Yet the boy is trying to offer him Redemption after everything.

Rage unfathomable rage. It bleeds into everything choking him and drowning him in the ever-expanding crimson. It's a new kind of color that washes in the dark. And even then all he can think of is the boy trying to give him one last chance. Trying to save him. 

His head feels like it is splitting open.

He blinks hard and he can see a darkened room, with a long table. There are flashes of the people there, all of them look haggard, the man that reminds him of Abraxas looks the worst. He is trembling something awful. They all look at him with fear, all except a woman that is sitting seemingly as close as she can to him. 

There is a loud hissing in his ear and he feels his eyes be drawn to it. 

_He lies. He lies._

The person in the corner is hit with a spell and gutted completely. He didn’t even feel his own hand-raising. 

_Eat. Rip._ The snake seems pleased by the display and the person clinging to life and their inners has no chance. 

He feels like he is dying. As there is a push back from the eyes of the person he is looking through. He tries to flee from that dark entity's magic. It tangles itself around him. It's cold, painful, and reminiscent. Red eyes bore into him as whoever it is trying to catch a glimpse of the person that has gotten past their defenses. 

Monstrous, snake-like, and just humanoid enough to share a resemblance. 

What has he become?

He can not stay in this place, he needs to go back. He pulls against the thorns of shadow and crashes back to the safety of his own head, locking the thin door to rooms as fast as he can. Climbing stairs to the last room of defense. Wool’s attic greats him. He had spent so long in this place. So many times had he been locked up here for things he could not control. In his rather short existence, he has never felt such fear. He has been scared of death, so much so that he had forgotten many ways in which there was to live. Death is still chilling, it is still frightening, but his true fear is what he has turned himself into.

It matters not that he is a shard of a soul, he has seen what is left of himself in the living world. He can feel that poison deep in the remainder of his soul, and the soul that he has borrowed. A taint that is so red it has turned near brown-black with stains of thousands of lives. It never mattered. He could read of what his other self had done and feel nothing. Tom had killed Myrtle by accident but ever the opportunist make his first Horcrux. His father and grandparents he murdered purposely for what they did to him. And he never regretted it. They had been necessary. He needed safeguards and he needed to get back at the people that caused him so much suffering. They deserved it! They sentenced him to this place. He kicks at the floor and then just collapses down hunching in on himself. 

He puts his hands over his ears, trying to drown out all the voices that are telling him that they were right that he was a monster. A person so unloveable even his own mother would not do what was necessary to live to take care of him. Dumping him off with Muggles that would hate him. It was not his fault! 

He is special!

He is important!

He was the brightest wizard that they had seen and that Bloody School.

He fooled them all.

He put a stop in death. 

He had brought the world appears to its knees.

And yet there is blood dripping from the ceiling rather than water. Yet his chest feels heavy. 

_There is something deeply wrong with that boy._ Cole’s voice echoes in his head. 

His pride and self-importance will not allow him to take it back. Not pride, but false confidence one of his housemates had called it, to hide real self-esteem issues and emotional deficiencies. He had set her best dresses on fire of it. It isn't true... it can't be. 

But looking at what his grand ambitions have led him to do. The slaughter and desecration of the only thing he has ever cared about ....Magic… puts a burning into his chest and behind his eyes unlike most things in his life that he has suffered has. 

To heal a Horcrux is to feel remorse. It is the footnote in the journal that he had read when he had first heard about making these sorts of things. But that remorse just might kill a person. 

Can he feel remorse for something he himself did not do, only a part of him? He can pity and feel sorry for that part of him. A twisted, foolish, evil, thing it has become. But can he feel remorse for anything other than the actions that lead him to this fate he does not know?

He honestly did not know. He held harder against his head, feeling the need to block everything out again. Needing to feel numb to it all. Questioning himself was not something that he could afford to do, or he will unravel. 

~/*\~

There was a loud crack as the house-elf appeared near the place she was gathering herbs. “Mistress, come quick. Riddle seems to be having a fit.” 

She takes its hand and stumbles ungracefully into the bedroom. 

He should not have been able to move, should not have been able to squeeze his eyes shut in the way that he was. Hermione brushes his dark hair out of his face. He is huffing something awful and his forehead is burning under her touch. She summons some of her magic forward, cooling it for him and he stills a little under her hand as she breaks the spell. She waits till his breathing is normal enough summoning a chair to herself. 

He could have died it seemed, she wondered how far he wandered to cause such a violent reaction in his own mind. 

“Always such a nuisance.” She sighs deeply. Not completely meaning it. It bothers her something greatly to see him in such pain. She supposes it will always bother her in a way when younger people suffer. She has become attached to the boy, more than fond it seems. She takes one of his thin hands and feels along the palm. 

Luna would have been able to read all those lines. Hermione can only read some of them, particularly the heart line. Hermione knows that hers is deep and Luna had warned her the deeper the line, the more love, and affection that a person has to give, the coarseness meant she was passionate, but the fractures showed she would have intense but fleeting relationships with other people. Such was her curse she supposes. It was usually more correct not to read someone’s palm without their permission but now that she had held his hand, and it seemed he was stable she was curious enough to look. The line did not curve toward the fingers, indicating someone who may be overly sensitive and seeks validation but not necessarily affection. There were also lots of little lines crossing the heart line that indicated emotional trauma. And towards the end a cross near-perfect X. Her eyes drifted to his face. Riddle did seem like the sort to tie himself to a career rather than people and to be the reason that if he ever found love that person died. 

The locket that he is wearing shimmers in the light of the few candles. She takes her hand off his hand for a moment to inspect it with her wand. The soul fragment is gone.

He is capable of remorse it seemed. She can not help but be extremely pleased.

~/*\~ 

He tentatively takes a seat on the chair, its loud creaking echoing throughout the hollowness of what was once beautiful halls. The decrepit walls groan against the harsh winds outside, as if welcoming him back into its arms and sheltering him from the storm as it had done all those years ago. He looks around and takes a deep breath, and he swears, he can still remember how the room was supposed to smell, how the fireplace over by the now dilapidated grand staircase once brought warmth and security, and how many wonderful memories he once had in this very place, memories that were at one time treasured and held deeply in his heart.

They have faded like an old song that he has long forgotten the words of, yet the melody remains. Memories are tainted a little by all the promises, grief, and loss that he has suffered. So many dead, they all start to blend together after a while, so does all the pain that he has inflicted. All the red sinks past the skin, clothes, and bones. It lingers in his soul and some days, some days he wants to just tell the Dark Lord that is sending a burn through his arm to fuck off. He would die for it, but at this point, it feels like the easiest thing to do, quicker than falling asleep. 

Dark eyes land in front of the old desk, and he can’t even smile as his thin fingers slowly and shakily reach out and touches the letters bound together. He closes his tired eyes as fingertips finally land on the soft parchments, the black and white ridges reacquainting with calloused hand tenderly, as if it was his long lost lover. They are all there, students' names, pictures. He has done what he can for the people that he has hidden in the small box. 

Most of them are dead, most of them are long gone. And he has the urge to join them, just let the Dark Lord past his tired walls in his mind. Yet he has promises to keep. Keep the students safe. Help those he can live to see another day, make it up to Lily and the others. Since her son is dead, and the light has fallen apart. He isn’t sure what to really do with himself in this new world. A world where a Madman ran it further and further into the ground with his need to take and take. He was never satisfied, always seeing enemies where there were none. Paranoid and driven to unearth more and more unholy texts. 

He brushes his pocket. Her gift is still in there ticking on and on. Never skipping a date or time. The years have been unkind to him, he knows he has no reason to complain considering that he made this bed and needed to lie in it now. He feels much older than he looks ten years has aged him nearly a century. He can feel the gray seeping into him. He brushes back the silvering hair and sits at the table turned desk. The paintings whisper amongst themselves. He has an itch to burn the one that stares at him with sparkling blue eyes. 

That man was nothing but a liar and should he had been honest and not scheming against even those on his own side Potter might still have been alive. Now there is only one from the Golden Trio. A woman that is now the most wanted person in all of Europe, if not the world. She had been spotted again and this time, this time the woman that he sees looks much like the woman that he remembers being incredibly kind to him as well as annoying. 

“Severus.” The bearded man looks down from his painting. “It is not good to dwell.” 

“Do not speak to me.” He holds the pocket watch and turns it over. There are few that have ever cared for him and perhaps that is the reason that he poisons himself on what could have been, what could be. Her letter gave new meaning to the small gift that she had given Potter. The two deer move around the small container. 

She didn’t delay Him did she? 

She had left him truly to this fate of spy all by a promise to protect her students. Protect the people that she would sentence herself to a fate worse than possible death for. He has not seen nor heard of her again, her face slightly fading in his memories like Lily’s. He closes his weary eyes. Knowing in the morning he will wake alone again. He will get dressed and he will attempt to keep the remaining children that are at the school under his care safe. He should hate her and yet he can't. He can't perhaps he was truly old if he can not summon the willpower to hate others like he used to. Hate had not been a driving force in his life for a long time only survival...

Sleep would not find Severus that night only a burning in his arm would wake him with news that Bella's Bank Vault had one of the wards tripped and every force available was to stall the person attempting to leave till The Dark Lord could show. A woman was making her last stand in the lobby of the building. Her eyes blazing like golden suns and he knows those eyes, he knows that voice he hears it in his dreams. Asterope...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday Severus btw lol Jan 9


	12. A Baleful Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been a long time, but look I'm back with a long chapter!!!

It has been a while since he has been awake. It feels like years. Wool's attic had not been very secure all things considering when the dark magic tried to follow down the line into his mind. It had been banging against his defenses leaving him mentally and physically exhausted. The bed below him feels soft, nice, and is real. He can feel it under his fingertips, that plush texture makes him know that he is really there. She sits there at the side of his bed, hair wilder than any lion mane and eyes dulled by no doubt staying up after him. She looks far more tired than what this exercise should have entitled but then even she could not have predicted him wandering into the other part of his mind. 

Still, he can not help but hate her for this. Hate her desire to test him, even when he had been doing what she asked of him. Her brown eyes look at him, they have golden flakes to them. He can see the gold now in her hair and her freckles. 

She doesn't say anything to him, just looks at him, with sad eyes. He never wanted that look from anyone. He hates pity. He despises that look with every part of his being. It adds a layer of rage that he didn’t think was possible, for perhaps that is the very reason that she showed any emotion towards him. PITY. He wants to demand she apologize to him. Demand that she understand what she had put him through was worse perhaps than any torture of wools, any betrayal of supposed allies in his house. 

His throat feels dry and his eyes feel like they want to close again. How long had he been laying here? How long had he been reliving nightmares of his past mistakes, of his old life at wools? He turns his head. It's bright, has the sun always been that bright? He can see it streaming through the curtains and the glow of gold to the woman’s skin. She tilts her head and lets the quiet pass over them. She pretends not to notice that her hand is in his, or that he is struggling to get up. 

“You healed your soul.” She finally says as the silence is becoming too much. There is the ticking of the clock, the creak of floorboards, and the rustling of the curtains as they shift in the cool breeze. “I didn’t know if you could do it, but you did. It proves without a doubt that you are not like him. You are able to feel remorse.” 

She is not looking at him, no she is looking at the walls. The stars painted onto the walls are shifting and twinkling. 

Is that the feeling that was clawing at his insides, was that truly the feeling that had driven him half-mad? Remorse? 

Look at me. He wants to demand. Look at what you did.

His magic tightens around him, blanketing him securely like his anger. Who was she to force him to feel these things? 

He doesn’t want it. 

It hurts. 

“I know that could not have been easy for you. It nearly killed you, and I am sorry.” 

That was all she was sorry for. The fact that her little chess piece would be dead. His magic reacts violently wanting to protect him, showing his fury. He yanks away from her false gentle touch. The same touch that had seen to him that he was cared for after their first mission. The same ones that seemed to treat him from an injury that she caused. The light above them smashes raining glass, the accidental magic slices deep into her cheek. The wound drips red that shimmers with small flecks of something else. 

And he wants to hurt her, hurt her like she had hurt him. One unforgivable would be all it took. That horrible nauseating feeling is twisting up his insides. Her spells are keeping him from enacting any sort of revenge on her. He grips the sheets harder and all but punches her when she gets up from the chair and gets closer to him. The protective spells feel like they are choking him, the noose tightening. 

Another person using him, forcing him to be something that he is not. Pushing him down a road that he had no intention of going, no desire. He would take the diary over this pain in his chest, or destruction. 

She still manages to sit close to him, despite the effort he is putting into hurting her, as the two ended magical blade hits him with the recoil. She is bleeding more from another swipe to her arm. Her hand reaches out to him and pats his head, straightening the bangs that are out of place. He stares at her in utter disbelief. 

“It's okay.” She pulls him closer to her and the pain of the magical restraints of the vows lessens. “It's okay to get angry at me.” 

The hold is warm, warm like the time that he had dove into her pensive and rooted around memories that he really should not have. She had been bleeding then, and she still protected him. Her flesh starts to mend itself in front of his very eyes. 

She can not be human, even though she has the form of one. She is beautiful in some strange way to him, bleeding magic and her feelings are almost tangible as her eyes have not lost that sad shine to them. Had they always been this sad? He knows she is lonely. He knows she is using him for more than destroying and finding parts of his soul. 

He feels odd. He doesn’t like it. He hates it really the way she keeps a soothing hold on him. The way her perfume smells sweet and the intoxicating feeling of being held. He hissed out a breath between his grit teeth. He hates her, he wants to hate her. But even now she is still kinder than any have been to him. And that is sad. Extremely sad and pitiful. That truly is Voldemort’s and his legacy. 

He weakly shoves at her. “You had no right. You trapped me in my head with him.” He hits her again and again she doesn’t let go. His magic bristles and he succumbs to the feeling of exhaustion after such an outburst. Feeling even more weak and childish than he had previously. 

Her head is on his now, her soft curls against his cheek. Her hold loosens slightly. 

“I know.” Her voice is soft in his ear. “It was something very selfish of me. I Intended to test your resolve for my own conscience and because you deeply shook my faith in you.” 

“I don’t forgive you.” Tom won’t he can't. 

“I don’t suppose you will.” There is a very soft smile that touches her lips. One that is longing and tired. It almost works in affecting him. “Even if you have accomplished this. I do not think that I will put you through that again.”

He blinks. 

“I am not weak.” He breaks out of her hold. “Stop treating me like some fragile child. I am not one. I have never been one.” 

He had never had a real childhood. He never had a chance. His childhood was stolen from him the moment they thought him different from the others. The moment that he had been cast into Slytherin, the moment that he had seen the horrors of war. The moment that he had the epiphany that he could fight back, he could hurt them just as horribly as they had hurt him. 

She looks at him with eyes that understand, why does she have to look at him like that. 

Why can she not look hurt by his actions? 

Why can she not be like the others and just turn away from him? Let him be. Use him and not pretend that she cares so damn much. 

Why is Hermione this way? 

“You are far from weak, but remorse is a terrible thing to bear. It is one of the worst of all punishments this life can offer. To wish something undone that you have done, to look back and wish that you could have been kind to someone you care for, loved…instead of showing unkindness, hate, contempt. To want to go back to that one moment that you made a horrible choice, a life-altering decision. That Tom is a horrible thing. And I do not intend to let you experience that feeling alone.” 

He wants to laugh at her, but the air doesn’t leave his lungs that way. Instead, it comes out as a pathetic pained sound. And he knows in some fundamental way that he has changed. He has changed slightly without his knowledge up until this snapping point. 

“Why can you not just let it be? Is it not enough that I help you destroy what you hate so very much?” 

“Because I am fond of you.” She tells him honestly, no sound of a lie or deception. 

And he can’t help but wonder what she means by fond and if that fondness actually makes it to the point of caring about him.

~/*\~

She sits him down in the living room. The tea is prepared to the point of perfection. Her elf is always so good at setting things up. She relaxes into the sofa and readys herself for this particularly difficult conversation. 

“I do believe I promised an explanation if you met my expectations.” Hermione grips the teacup in front of her looking at the steam that is coming off of it. 

“You did say that you wanted to make sure empathy from me was possible first.” Tom scowled at her, she can feel his judgemental brown burning eyes even if she is not looking at him. 

“Yes, I did.” She looks back up and slowly takes off the necklace that she has had on her neck since the day of her trip to the ministry. “It is a long story, though we have time. There is always more time.” 

Her eyes drift to the table again. It is hard to describe just what she is, the reasons for the things she does. She can try though, having someone that knows her limits is dangerous, but if they are to do the latest heist then perhaps it is good someone knows.

“I think I shall start with how I accidentally archived immortality.” She took off the locket that matches his. And she watches his eyes trail to the golden lines that line her arms. She rubs at the old scars, as she places the locket onto the table. “I went after this, for a second time. I got cornered in the department of mysteries. There is a room there dedicated completely to time.” 

She picks up the knife near her and pokes the tip of it through the skin at her finger and squeezes a few drops of blood from the small cut. The blood shimmers and the wound slowly heals. “My blood became infused with time sand or magic that makes up our perception of present, past, future. It makes things complicated for me but does come with some benefits. One is that I can not die, or least in the sense of things that would normally kill a person. The damage is healed, going back to a time that there was no damage. I have not tried a few methods of self-destruction, but if what happened in the Chamber is any indication. Poison that can destroy a Horcrux is not enough to destroy me.” 

She puts the droplet to one of the napkins on the table wiping away the mess. “My body is in constant flux. People are not meant to mess with time. In your past, the idea of Time-Turners were just starting to become more than a principal. But perhaps you are familiar with Time Theory.” 

“Yes.” Tom folds his hands. “A person can not stay in the past for prolonged periods of time. Not only can they do irreparable damage to the timeline or create branches or holes in reality, but the strain on the person’s magical core can not sustain the amount of deterioration that can happen on the cellular level.” 

She hums. “You are so smart Tom, sometimes I forget.” 

“Don't patronize me.” He glares at her. 

“I am not. I could not have picked a better apprentice.” She praises sincerely. She brings her cup to her lips and sighs at the nice flavor. The sweet taste is nice on her throat. Tom’s face has darkened slightly with a red dusting. The embarrassed look is almost cute. “You are correct. Under normal circumstances, one that is meddling with time would face the consequences. I have no such inhibition. I can travel between timelines for long periods of time without paying more than a blood toll as the sand and magic are embedded in it.” 

She taps the dot of her blood. “One drop can buy seconds, the more I use the longer that I can stay in a time. But there is a trade-off.”

“Magic tends to have a give and a take.” Tom nods understanding no doubt the recoil now of dark magic better than anyone. 

“The human body is not supposed to have time running through their veins and so every so often that flux becomes too much to handle. The area that I originally sustained the injury splits open. I then have the tendency to hallucinate possible futures and relive the past. The sensation is anything but pleasant and leaves me vulnerable and unable to always distinguish reality. Hox has faced my raw magic before.”

And it had nearly killed the elf. She closes her eyes, putting down her tea so that she can hold herself. It’s an awful feeling both Isolating and maddening. To not be able to live normally or with people she could grow to love when this was over. She hears the creak of floorboards and feels the couch shift to accommodate weight. She feels a cold hand on her shoulder. And she opens her eyes to look at the boy that has brought her back from her dark thoughts. They don’t speak. Tom doesn’t move his hand, though it is not exactly comforting she can almost admire him for his boundless and attempting. 

She doesn’t doubt that it is the best that he can do. She doesn’t expect him to have much practice with this sort of thing and if he was learning kind gestures from her and going based on things he had observed, she feels he might need some practice if he wants to appear normal. 

“I am alright, you know.” She slowly takes his hand off of her. 

“I am sure.” His voice is sarcastic but lacks real bite. “That is why you were shaking.” 

“Was I really?” She laughs bitterly.

“Yes. You were also shaking that day you pulled me out of your memories.” Tom takes a deep breath. “I suppose that I should apologize for it. You had to rescue me and were no doubt in horrible pain.” 

“I was.” She doesn’t sugar coat it. “But I should have put better wards on my memories and given you a reason that I would not be back, even if I did not trust you with that sensitive information at the time.” 

She can not openly apologize for reacting the way that she had. It still pisses her off that he dared to peek into her things like that, but she was sorry that she had forced him to peer into Voldemort’s head. But perhaps he can tell there was some regret to her words. 

“Are you going to tell me what the other things on the table are for?” Tom shifts the conversation over to another topic with ease that she is grateful for. 

“Yes. My meddling seems to have saved a few lives this time around and created some people that could be considered traitors to the pureblood cause. Umbridge creating her little hit list has its uses. But I will be looking into those later on. There are more timely things that we need to take care of.”

Tom actually smiled a little at that. “No rest for the wicked.” 

“Afraid not. Are you feeling up to breaking into a bank vault?” Hermione sized him up and he met that gaze without hesitation; eager not to show weakness, to be great, and to exceed expectations. He probably is in good enough condition and they don’t have time if he wasn’t.

“Is that what we're doing, doesn’t sound so challenging.” He answers pridefully. 

“It’s Gringotts, not the easiest place in the world to break into.” She shakes her head smiling ever so slightly. 

She has come to like his confidence in some instances.

“There are limited defenses, and I am sure they have not met someone that is determined enough to break-in. Goblins are crafty and their magic is different from ours, but there are tells to their enchantments.” Tom folds his arms. “Besides you seem to have a fragmented plan here.” 

He gestures at the map and the documents that are thrown about. 

“I have secured a Goblin Guide, though the idea of working with that section of their community is unsavory.” She wrinkled her nose thinking about Wrivic. 

“They are all unsavory.” Tom scowled. 

She sighs, shaking her head. “They have a very different way of doing things. I suppose all dealings with them will only go so well.”

“If you are trying to defend them, you had best find better words to do so.” Tom huffed, recognizing her tone that she found his previous statement a tad speciest. 

“I am not trying to defend them. I am sure that there are upstanding members of their community. I have met someone who was Half Goblin and he was the greatest Duelist and Charms professor of the age.”

“But they are far and in between,” Tom smirks. 

“I suppose by most wizard standards they are that way.” She admits. 

“So what did you offer them.” Tom tilts his head. “Must have been something pretty good for them to consider stealing from the bank for you.” 

His eyes are judgemental. 

“I didn’t offer them my blood, Tom. I am far from that foolish. Idealistic perhaps in hoping a change in this world can happen. But I am not going to give them or anyone that sort of power.” 

Besides Death, her mind carefully reminded her. She had given him enough blood to access the living world for some time now. 

His eyes become less icy to her and she sighs deeply, a habit-forming for sure. 

“They wanted one of two objects.” She held up her fingers. “One of them is one of the few ways to destroy a Horcrux so it was out of the question.” 

“And the other.” Tom relaxes slightly into the chair. 

“The locket,” Hermione says simply. Tom stiffens, his hand going to the small chain that is still around his neck. 

“Not yours, they asked for mine.” She assures. “A technicality that they did not know that it was fake. I can not be blamed for being fooled by such a convincing fake.” 

It is still not something she wants to give up. It's precious to her, but sacrifices needed to be made and she would not take his from him. It rightly belonged to him in a way and she knew that it must have had some significance to it even if she did not particularly agree with the association of it to blood purity. 

Tom laughs at this and his laughter is a little contagious. “I don’t know how you were not sorted into Slytherin.” 

“It was considered. However, you already have seen a small fraction of my boldness and ferocity. I very much belonged at one time in the house of Lions.” 

He doesn’t argue with her and so she runs him through her latest plan and he adds in his criticism. 

~/*\~

Hermione dresses up, much like she did when she used to teach. She fixes her hair and gives the flare that someone of ‘higher’ birth status would have. Should she not have the cloak on at the appropriate time it could be useful. Tom has dressed similarly, fashionable robes yet ones that wouldn’t be impossible to move in. 

She was rather impressed with her sense of style and it suited him well. Even if Tom had violently rejected the idea of dress-up at the start. He needed to look presentable, and they had settled with a look that was popular among the few Slytherins she had been able to observe moving about Hogsmeade. 

They had an appointment for an appraisal for the object that Hermione had placed in a velvety box. The fake locket had not left her person, and yet she feels very wrong thinking of giving it up. She has become attached to it perhaps after so much time holding onto it, her promise, and her grudge. If Tom has noticed her displeasure he wisely does not mention it as he took the box from her. 

His long fingers brush hers, and he quickly draws his hand back from her. She raised an eyebrow but did not comment. Instead turned from him to pull out a familiar and welcoming cloak. 

“I will be next to you.” She reminds him. “Every step of the way.” She disappears under its soft fabric and takes his waiting outstretched hand. With the warp of space around them, there is the sound of cracking and they appear in Diagonally. She lets go of his hand but directs him with a gentle nudge to keep moving as he freezes on the unfamiliar street. 

~/*\~

The slight pressure reminds him not to have such a reaction. He steels himself and fixes his expression to a perfect mask. This place has changed, never had he thought that such a magical place would be filled with emptiness. Every time he had come here, there had always been a spark of wonder, amazement, magic. But now it felt much like that whimsical air had been sucked out. It reminded him of Muggle London during the war. Boarded up shops, ragged people hiding in the alleys desperate for work. 

He sets his jaw, feeling that if Hermione did not end up killing his other self that he would. How could someone such as he, that loved magic, bring about such an era? He keeps his eyes focused in front of him, and his other senses sharp as he makes his way to the bank. 

Their contact would look over their magical object and take them to put it into the vaults below. Simple and he has no issues getting through the line to the small stumpy goblin that is leaning over the desk peering at him. 

“I am here to see Hovis. I have an appointment.” Tom says smoothly and with as much confidence as he is capable surrounded by people that are looking at him and are no doubt wondering if he is really one of them. Half-blood or better. 

The air is thick with distrust and the eyes on him are tangible. He waits for that thing to have the decency to respond to him. His heart rate raising ever so slightly with the long pause and the damn eyes looking him up and down. This has to work or there will be no chance of getting what they came for and he dislikes the idea of spending what remained of his life in Azkaban.

The creature’s mouth splits open in a smile that looks anything but pleasant. “Oh yes.” 

He lets out a soft breath of relief, his cool composure not breaking at all as he nods his head once in acceptance.

It waves another Goblin over that looks like it’s grimacing with the way that the zipper-like teeth are meshing together. He supposes that it is supposed to be welcoming or friendly but he would honestly rather that it just not look at him. They are not at all on the same playing field, he doesn’t care what Hermione says. These creatures were far from human. 

It doesn’t take long for it to lead them to another room. He can’t hear Hermione but she brushes against him ever so often to let him know that she is there. He doesn’t need her reassurances, but he is rather grateful that they were not separated. Once the room is shut and privacy wards in place. She uncovers herself. And the cloak that makes her invisible is folded small and placed into her front shirt pocket. 

Her eyes shift to him for a moment but then look back at the Goblin that is all but salivating over such a rare object.

“Hovis, it is good to make your acquaintance.” It nods. “Granger. I have not seen you since you were 12.” Hermine ignores its reaction in favor of pleasantries. 

Tom hates this game already having played it too much at Hogwarts.

“Ah yes. I was quite inquisitive in those days. I meant no offense.” She sits elegantly in the seat next to him. Her red-tipped nails tap the chair a tell sign that despite her nice fake smile she hates this as much as he does.

“None was taken, or if it was that it has long been forgiven.” The goblin sits behind its desk. “I was not expecting the boy.” 

Tom bristles but keeps his posture polite and face stone. Hermione seems grateful for this as she shifts the conversation back to herself.

“This is my acquaintance, very useful and skilled should we run into any troubles in the vaults below.” 

The yellow eyes sweep over him and Tom can feel just a light dusting of magic in the air, as the thing checks over him. 

“He is quite trustworthy, and will not be problematic in the collecting of your payment.” Hermione draws the thing’s attention back to her. 

“Of course.” It hisses out, “We shall head down then. I was told you would tell me the vault once we started our descent?” 

“Yes, we will need access to Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault,” Hermione informed it as it stood up and slid open a door behind it. 

The goblin seemed to freeze and Tom gripped the wand in his sleeve ready should he need to silence it. 

“Is there a problem?” Hermione's magic is a blanket, covering the air with a subtitle treat.

“No.” It quickly recovered, “That vault though is under very powerful enchantments.” 

“I am sure it is. And I am sure that will not hinder you from taking what you are owed at the end of this.” 

They descend into the Dark. The twisting paths between the mine carts. Down and down to a lower cart that was below the railways above. Tom had never been this far into the bank. Probably because the measly Hogwarts fund left very few sickles to his name when it wall was said and done. He had hardly had enough to scrape together a savings fund. 

Herminoe seems to give off a slight glow, not bothering to hide her less than human part of her. She has her wand drawn with bright Lumos, keeping the Goblin from needing much more than a small lantern. 

“In.” The thing waves them into one of the mine carts and they head down further into the mine passing vault after vault. It's fast, harsh, and he wonders if this is what amusement park rides are like. It’s not exactly thrilling, even as they tilt and weave around. It’s more nauseating than anything, like bad apparition. 

Hermione looks over at him and hardly hides her smile. He glares at her as she brings her hand up but pushes her hair back rather than reach for him. They get off at ruin that spirals further into the dark. 

There is a roar from below.

“A dragon.” Hermione frowns deeply. “Seems like Bella is well prepared.” 

So that is that horrible sound, he had seen some flames as they had passed other deep caverns. But A Dragon... He doubted that it would be the well-fed and friendly type. 

Hermione steps ahead of their guide, leaving Tom to keep her back watched. She shields a wave of fire and motions for them to move forward. The fire dies out quickly as the starving, sickly beast pulls at the many chains keeping it in place. The goblin makes his way to the volt and opens the large door, many enchantments peel back and the door swings open. 

Even as they enter there is the heat of flame that tries to reach them and the rattling of chains as the great lizard gives up. The vault is filled with gold, more gold than Tom has ever seen nor ever could wish to own. There are thousands of cups, plates, and other trinkets. There is not much room to move between piles of gold and tables full of everything else. There is an enchanted mirror that reflects the last glitter of light as the vault closes to the sound of hundreds of locks. 

The vault is dark, too dark to see, and silent as a tomb. Hermione sends up small firefly-like orbs that hover safely above everything. 

“Can you find the object, among all this dark magic?” She asks him. 

And he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and listens. He can hear soft whispers that are anything but pleasant to hear. He opens his eyes and carefully moves forward around the tables. The dark magic is stronger, and there is a pull at his chest. It’s near suffocating, and makes his skin itch and crawl. His concentration is broken by a clang as the goblin has bumped one of the objects and it starts to multiply rapidly. 

“You are going to need to hurry this up.” Hermione’s voice cuts over the noise of duplicated golden plates and the clanging of metal. There is an undertone of urgency in her voice. 

“The curse is set so that everything you touch will multiply.” The goblin moves backward to the door as if he was not the abomination that caused this and the time crunch. 

“I see it.” He can’t reach it though not without touching other things. He takes a deep breath and quickly climbs up reaching for the goblet up at the top of one of the many shelves. Hermione is trying spells to counter the quickly filling room. Tom grips the cup and feels cold through it as if the very thing is giving him frostbite. He will not let go of it. He would lose it to the thousands of ones that look just like it that are spilling out under his feet. 

“Stop moving.” Hermine demands of the Goblin as Tom rides the small landslide towards her. 

His heart is ramming up into his ribs. The voice is getting louder, it hisses in his head. His fingers feel like they are going to break off with how hard he is gripping it. 

“The locket for the exit.” The goblin holds up his grubby hand. 

Never trust a goblin! He had told her that much. 

“You will die too,” Hermione calls his bluff. “If we all move towards the door you will also be swallowed by things.” 

“Very well. I will exit and you will be locked inside.” The goblin sneered. 

Hermione laughed. She threw back her head and laughed, Tom blinked as the multiple objects stopped momentarily in the standoff. 

“So that was your plan, was it. Leave us locked in after getting your little trinket for your employer or leave us to die and take it after you reported the attempted break-in? Why am I not surprised? I am always surrounded by liars.” 

The goblin reaches up a hand to the door. And as soon as it opened a fraction. Hermione hurled a cutting hex that slashed its handoff. The Goblin screamed and Hermione yanked him forward, shoving the creature back into the piles with a swift kick. Tom just manages to get the cup into his pocket as the vault starts to shut again. 

“You can’t leave me here.” It gasped as it breached the surface of the small cutlery pile.

“I only needed your hand to activate the cart.” Hermione did not release her crushing grip on his arm as she picked up the severed limb. “And as you seemed to have no issue leaving us to die, I take no issue with leaving you here.” 

She cuts the dragon loose as the alarm has been rung and the mighty creature stretches its wings. It can’t fly but it starts to climb up, quickly learning that freedom is much more important to it than the goblins that have cut off their path. There are spells being tossed by Death Eaters that have been quickly summoned to protect their master’s treasure. 

“On second thought.” Hermione tossed the limb at the startled group of goblins. “I have a better idea.” 

She could not be considering it. 

No, that was completely mad. 

But she is already throwing him over the railing and he sticks the landing. Grabbing hard to the creature’s back, blocking for her a few of the spells aimed at them as the beast lurches forward, unfazed by the spells wheezing by it, the thick hide protecting it. It clears the way, shattering the floor and rock above it. The rail system was crushed under its mighty hands and jaws. The destruction knocks them off onto the tile floor of the bank that seconds ago must have been peaceful and open for normal business. Goblins, Wizards, and Witches alike are running for their lives as the Dragon’s scales puff up larger.

It was going to breathe fire. 

He scrambles to his feet, just as Hermione dove behind a desk. He dives behind a pillar as the beast lets out another horrid screech and burns its way through to the front door and those that were in front of it. The tail whacked the pillar near him and the desk as it was dragged behind the beast. The dragon curls its wings and hands closer to itself, wagging its tail in preparation to climb again. 

Shit.

He moves quickly sidestepping the body of a Goblin that failed to dodge some of the rubble. 

The tail swings back and he ducks as the sharp end made grooves into the thick wooden desks. 

It wiggles onto its front legs and climbs up into the roof and takes that out with a shake of its massive head. The glass dome comes raining down in sparkling shards. It pauses before forcing its massive white body through the narrow opening. Its back legs and tail thrashing as it forces itself through the gap and devastating anything left to the once well-decorated lobby. There is a moment of just silence. Where Tom dares to open his eyes again and lower his shield. 

It's dead silent besides the sound of running water from some plumbing and the groans of the surly dying. 

There goes our ride. He mutters to himself, this is not a good place to be. 

Tom calls out to Hermione who is standing up again and dusting herself off. “Now what?” 

There is the sound of ground shifting under them, and the beasts screeches can be heard outside of the place. Tom wonders if it is trying to gorge itself on some unsuspecting prey or fly far from the city. This isn’t something that would be easy to cover up. 

He carefully makes his way over towards her, there are people’s shadows moving through the dust of the debris and the steam caused by the pipes warmer water mixing with the cool air from the outside. 

“We have to create another opening.” Hermione stands straighter as a few familiar seeming cloaked figures that he is getting tired of meeting start to storm into the remains of the bank. 

He raises his wand again and prepares himself for what most likely will be the fight of their lives. 

~/*\~

Her mind is racing, this is not someplace that she wants to be caught in. The wards around here are weaker due to the destruction of some of the foundational spells, but not enough to just leave. Apparition might not be possible but their portkey might. She just needs to get close enough to grab Tom. She wouldn’t leave him, and she can’t leave him either as he still was in possession of the Horcrux she had worked so hard to get. Still, dread for this situation is quickly filling her. She doesn’t want to bet their lives on trying to activate the port key, with these wards it wouldn’t be instant. 

They attempt to meet near the back desks and pillars, the hole in front of them causing a divide that not many would attempt to cross. The floor is weaker, and Hermione can knock a few in if she needs to. Tom cuts off the exit to the tunnels by closing the remaining door frame and knocking some of the debris that way. There was no way for the goblins below to come up and join the fight any longer, other than coming out of the chasm in front of them. 

'Think.' She wills herself. 

“Get as close to me as you can.” She demands. Tom is still too far from her. He nods once, intelligent eyes watching his sides for a good way to do that and not leave his back open. 

“Which one of you thought you could break into my vault?” A woman’s voice cuts through the chaos of the dragon outside and the burn victims dying around them. That voice is undeniable, as it is chilling. There are few things in the world that Hermione Granger fears. 

Bellatrix is not one that she would ever admit out loud, but in the night, when she is alone, yes she fears the woman. The monster with black hair had cut her open and tortured her for hours. The sick individual took pride in her work of massacring others. The one personally responsible for how she lost many family members. 

The woman smiles even larger as she comes to the front of the hole and looks across it. It is the look of someone mad getting a moment of clarity. 

“Bellatrix.” Hermione smiles, raising her wand in defense drawing with her foot in the dust some runes and hopeful that the other doesn’t recognize it. “It has been a while hasn’t it?” 

Voldemort had taken a lot from her but Bella had taken Ron. And ever since she failed to kill the woman in the battle of Hogwarts she has been itching for the chance to fight her again. Yes, she is scared of the outcome, while she can not die she can feel the pain of it and she doesn’t like the idea that she could lose to her opponent. 

“I should have known it was you, you filthy little mudblood. Not many have the audacity that you do.” She is to the edge, debating no doubt if it would be safe to try and come over it. The others she is commanding are doing the same thing. Think perhaps of knocking down the remaining walls and making their way inside that way. 

Gringotts has fortified magical walls, from the outside. It would not be an easy task, but it was possible. Wards could be taken down. 

“You need to come up with a better word. I have become quite tired of hearing that one.” Hermione fires back. “Has Voldemort recognized your infatuation yet or has he still ignored it and all your accomplishments? I haven’t heard any praise your way over the radio in a long time.” 

The ‘truce’ at the moment wouldn’t hold. Tom was inching his way there. The ground was not sturdy near him and she would assume it was like walking over breaking ice. 

“I have been busy rooting out the last members of your little order. She fled pretty far didn’t she that little seer.” 

Luna… 

She swears she sees red. But keeps herself in check, flying into a rage will not do her any good not at this point. She could be bluffing. She has to protect herself and Tom. She is not exactly sure how gifted he is at dueling and she might have been lying about knowing for sure if he was unkillable. She watches as the Death Eaters move to surround. 

It would do her no favors to put herself into a more compromising position. She takes several deep breaths. “Good to know you had to go after easier prey considering you have failed on your primary objective so many times.” 

Tom is nearly there. He’s only a few meters away. 

“Not today. This time you die and that little boy that came here with you. I will make it slow just as I did to your last love interest.” 

Tom’s eyes shift over to her in confusion, which quickly passes to one of determination. They would be talking about that one later, she supposed. Though it was not her fault she had not told him about Bella and her hatred for one another. Tom just jumps the rest of the distance to the small area Hermione is. The second distraction is all it takes for Bella to kick off the exchange of spells. 

Anyone that attempts to get over to her side Tom hurls them into the abyss as she blocks Bella’s rapid spells. They are past the point of needing to consider mercy. This is survival and there is no time to consider who they are attacking, what they were like, and if they deserved death. 

It’s a dance and Hermione is quite gifted in the exchange having done so too many times. Tom though is not as experienced and serves to be getting winded as the more he kills the more they come. They have pulled out all the stops, they have who they consider to be public enemy number one surrounded and they dare not wait, they dare not slow their advance because if they gave the brightest witch of the age time to think she would get herself out of the situation. 

Even with her finesse, persistence, and ferocity, she can not keep this up forever. She gets to Tom and starts covering for him. He is gasping and holding his bloodied arm. He can’t heal like her, and his hair is clinging to his head. Sweat, blood, and debris he wipes at with his sleeve quickly. 

“We need a plan and fast.” He says hoarsely. He uses one of the remaining desks to slam into one of the few Death Eaters that managed to make it over. They were getting through and they would run out of real estate soon. 

Hermione hurls an unforgivable at Bella and the madwoman knows perfectly well that it would have killed her. She holds her hand to her hair realizing perhaps for the first time how serious this has become. She nods, saving her voice at the moment. Her throat is raw and dry from spells. It gives them a moment behind the pillar. It’s one of the few supports and she can feel the marble shift behind her back. 

She grabs the chain around his neck and attempts the port key and nothing happens. 

“There are wards.” He reminds her unhelpfully. 

“They are weakened but not enough.” Hermione curses. 

“The walls are to the tunnels nearest us, so they are enforced. I tried to see if they could be blown apart. They would take multiple shots at the same spot. Unpractical, and too noticeable.” Tom pokes his head slowly around the pillar to take out one of the people that was mere feet from them. 

Hermione feels the blood splatter against her robe. 

“Sorry.” He says unapologetically. 

“There are runes that hold the wards.” Hermione hurled a curse over her shoulder. 

“That’s risky.” He hissed. 

“I know, but we don’t have much of another choice.” Hermione agreed. “We make it rain down with the remaining ceiling and then use the port key.” 

“This better work.” Tom shook his head vigorously preparing himself. 

“It will.” She promises. She will make it work. She will not die here, she will not be captured. She will kill them all before that. 

~/*\~

It’s a mess. The smell of burning and raining ash. Burning people, burning buildings, and ash mix with the snowflakes that have started to fall. There is nothing but screaming and the screeching of an infuriated dragon. 

He feels like he is dealing with his students. No one has bothered to capture the rampaging beast. He makes his way up the stairs, stepping over bodies of fallen civilians, ministry officials, and Death Eaters. They all look the same, crumpled there. It at one time would have bothered him. Sickened him to see the charred flesh, smell the burning. 

The Dark Lord certainly believed that they would have this under control by the time that he arrived and Severus will not be the one that will disappoint him. Even if he is tired, thinks it might be better to just give up. He has not broken his promise yet. He has spared those he could, protected the students to the best of his ability. And even if he could give in, he doesn’t wish to feel the pain of a cruito. 

He is curious to see just who it was that had Bella taking a breather outside of the building. She was fighting desperately the healer to get back into the fray. Certainly, there was not a person alive that could take Bella out of battle. 

Though the second that he sees that figure, he freezes. He knows those golden eyes. He knows every curve to that face. Like an old song, a melody to play on the piano or an old practiced potion. He is taken back by the feeling of seeing it. Hearing her loud voice commanding all to hear her spell work.

Golden blood dripping down her arm, she fights one with the ferocity of a lioness. Her wild hair tamed by the lion hairpin Mcgunagal had made for her. The one she would wave in his face and tell him if he didn't like it to get her a snake one. Her bold robes were bright against the boundary of cursed fire that encircles her. She controls the water from the pipes using it like it is a twisting snake hardening it to ice to slam into people and freeze them solid. She twists her arm and makes the ice shards rain down like arrows. A deadly but somewhat beautiful display of magic. A boy covers her with a shielding charm. Using his other hand like another wand to send rocks to block the killing curses. 

A team, flawlessly compensating for one another. 

He raises his wand and it shakes. She looks just like that day, the morning that she had disappeared. There is no age and the wound she has heals itself. It shimmers closed. 

“Asterope….” Words truly fail him.

It can not be her, and yet he knows. He knows it is her without a single doubt. It is as if she has come back to life. That letter had been bitter when Dumbledore had finally gone about giving it to him. He had never known such pain. He had loved Lily but that had been a childish love, one that was based on compassion shown to a friend. He never could have hoped to be more to her, and his selfishness had pushed her aside. 

Loving Asterope had been to love a mystery, in the moment he did not know it was love that had come in and swept him up. Not till there was the bitter aftertaste of loss. Then everything that made him fond of her, burned deep into every cavern of his heart. For Lily had loved the boy Severus could be. The envisionment of a traumatized child finding his confidence and being recognized for his talents. It could not transcend to aiding him more than being a shoulder to lean on. Severus wouldn’t have allowed it and even as stubborn as she was, Lily could never have broken through and had given up. Just like Severus maybe had wanted, as he had been proven right. 

But Asterope was a different being. She had not loved Severus for what he could become, what she envisioned. She had loved him for the flawed person he was. They both were two flawed souls, haunted, and tormented by hells perhaps of their own making. It was fast, passionate, as the fire burned in the golden eyes. And one day that fire had died and left him cold and to a promise that would never be. 

Though she stands there alive. Alive and vibrant, and he can't raise a hand to extinguish that light. 

“It's that Granger girl, I am sure of it.” Bella hisses out. “I have no idea where she learned that…” 

Those amber eyes look at him. He is one of the few left. The boy raises his hand and she stops her attack for a moment to lower his, the spell he would have cast misses him and lands at his feet. Her eyes widened with realization and the boy yanks his arm back startled by her reaction. 

She says something to him and he scowls deeply and then his eyes widen and he shoves her hard. A red curse cuts between the both of them. And Severus is suddenly aware of the presence of cold, nothingness, and his arm prickles. He turns his head and then lowers it immediately out of habit. 

~/*\~

Voldemort's red eyes blaze brighter than any inferno. “Ms. Granger is it.” He give a false polite greeting that is dripping with the promise of death to come. 

She covers Tom from view. 

“Voldemort.” She says her voice does not waver. She stands straight and smiles. Smiles widely at the creature before her, he is not as horrifying as death, as facing forever in that wasteland. But he is still something that makes her gut clench and her blood chill. “I would say that it is a pleasure to meet you but we have already met on several occasions.” 

The Dark Lord strides forward towards the massive sinkhole in the middle of the area. His bare feet seemingly unbothered by the rocks, ice, and fire. 

“You are quite bold to speak my name.” 

“I do not fear you. I have seen you defeated by a child and magic that you did not understand. And you will fall again.” Her wand is steady. The boy however is shaking. He has covered his head with his hood. And Severus is no better than the boy, frozen. 

He could do something... But he has no idea if he should.

“Well aren’t you full of wishful proclamations.” Voldemort’s smile is enough to cause violent illness. 

“It’s not wishful, Riddle. Though I suppose that you are too inhuman at this point to feel it.” She is reaching for her snake again and she needs to activate the port key. “Could you not feel them when we destroyed them?”

Voldemort’s smile slips from his face. 

“You didn’t keep a very good track of your things and so I have taken it upon myself to clean up the messes.” 

The elder wand is raised and green light leaves the end. He goes for Tom, just because he wants to see her reaction. He wants to see what will happen should he kill the person she is protecting. But she won’t let that happen. She reaches her hand out, and it hits her. 

That soul shredding feeling, familiar to the pain of near burning to death. She still manages to stay on her feet, though they want to give out. It is worse than the torture curse. It would have been painless should she have allowed it to take her under. But she can't take the time off. Tom would not survive that. Her hand is smoking. She feels like crying, but she manages to stand up tall again onto trembling feet. 

She laughs. Just laughs at their horror. Voldemort is struck speechless. “Oh, I took assurances.” 

'Like me?' She can see those gears turning. 

She laughed more, covering everything with it. Cracking slightly under the pressure. Tom grabs her and she knows that he has activated the port key. 

10 seconds if it worked. 

Voldemort raises the elder wand again after looking at it as if inspecting it. 

She has to stall him. 

7 more seconds. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?” His followers are looking at their master in awe and at her like she is somehow more monstrous. Voldemort throws another curse. She tries to sidestep it, taking Tom with her but it catches her leg and since it was flicked upward she can not tell the damage. She feels blood start to gush from her wound. Tom makes a strangled sound behind her. 

She is so tired. 

3 more seconds. 

She blinks away the magical exhaustion. 

She blinks away Death's kind little call. 

“I promised Death himself I would drag you to hell with me.” She smiles as those red eyes widen. 

The air around her is starting to move. 

They were leaving. 

It worked... Godric she has never been so relieved in her life. 

“Till next time.” 

~/*\~

The wind blows behind him, moving his long cloak. it's completely silent. There is not a word that can be heard. Nothing but the sound of water and Voldemort's breathing.

One moment the woman he thought he had known was there, and then she was gone. Her blood slowly dripped down into the caverns below glowing like there was starlight trapped in it, golden like her eyes, and gold like the light she seemed to radiate. The Dark Lord notices it too. He is making his way over to inspect it. Putting his fingers into the stain.

Severus manages to move his limbs to get over the hole and collect a sample. It doesn’t seem possible, and yet that curse had hit her. He knows it did and she did not die. Even with assurances, his ‘master’ would fall unconscious for a few moments should someone hit him with a killing curse. It was not something that he could just brush off. And yet she had laughed.

“Severus.” Voldemort towers above him. “What do you think of this girl? She was a student of yours was she not?” 

Severus raises his eyes but not himself from the ground. “I do not know what to think anymore my Lord. Granger was book smart, not dual svvey. It looked like her, but more like a college from a decade ago.” 

He can feel the pressure in his skull and he keeps his shields in place under that scrutinizing gaze. “Her name was Asterope Belonda.”

“Asterope.” Voldemort seems to test it as if turning over a phrase. “A defense against the dark arts professor, I take it.”

“Yes, my lord, and gifted with visions of the future. She predicted your return 2 years before the date.” He does not rise and he dares not hint to anything more of her. Her actions spoke for themselves. 

“An ancient name from mythology.” The madman started mumbling to himself. “ Root meaning Lighting, but also the name of a nymph that ran from the more powerful man rather than submit. Described as the shooting star that died upon the earth before it was her time and in another tale the goddess of setting suns and forced endings. A rather contrived fake name wouldn’t you say, Severus?”

He nods. “I knew that it was a fake from the day the application came. I researched her before but could not find anything. She was quite vocal about being against you then, if not more so now.” 

“Before we did not have such a clue.” Voldemort rubs his white bone-thin fingers together and the red spreads thinner. His face was a perfect mask of thought. “Salvage as much as you can of it. I want it analyzed and another sample sent to see if it matches anything in the Ministry records. We will see if it really was Granger that Bella has failed to catch for the last few years or someone else that resembles her and has been borrowing her name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. The next chapter will be the real reunion between our two time/star crossed lovers. 
> 
> See you all soon. Much love!
> 
> Dawn


	13. Unrequited Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this for Valentine’s Day but well I got sucked into grading so can we pretend it came out on love day!

The world moves in stunning blues and vibrant yellows. They are tumbling for a few seconds, before the air stops rushing around them, and they crash into a grassy seaside field. The ground is hard and he sinks into the sand buried under the weight of the woman on top of him. Her face is pressed into his chest in one last protective gesture her arms are curled around him in a hug. Even though he has landed first and broken her fall. He groans, feeling the sharp pain in his back, arms, and leg. Her grip is tight for someone that is unconscious. Hermione is not breathing, but he supposes that is because she is dead to the world currently. She would be back any second. Any Minute he is sure of it. 

He shifts his weight to a sitting position prying her hold off of him. There is a lot of blood covering him. It's impossible to tell if it’s his, hers, or someone else's. It's thick like an extra coating to his skin, sticky, and uncomfortable as it has started to harden into a crusty mess. 

He looks around himself. Not exactly the place that he thought that he would end up. But he assumes that they are safe in front of an old beach house, and it makes sense that she wouldn’t make it go directly to their main residence. Portkeys were risky and there was always the chance of unwanted tagalongs. 

He looks back at his lap and the golden steaks to the wild brown hair. She looks peaceful like that, never has he seen her that relaxed. There is always even when she is getting ready to turn in a hunch in her posture, a hidden sorrow lining her features. He touches her with unsure hands, to wipe away the sand. The lion hairpin is missing a rhinestone. It must have lost the ruby in the fight. How unfortunate he knows she likes this one. He could transfigure a small rock to fit it. He wondered if she would thank him for that. 

A small smile finds its way onto his face. She would hate that. She is so prideful that she doesn’t like to have anything given to her. He can already see, her face twisting with a begrudging ‘thank you, Tom’.

As he shifts his weight again he notices the clumps of sand. The warm wet that at first, he thought was just the water. Which if his brain was remotely working the way it should he would have known that not even with the sun the water would be this warm. 

Hermione is still bleeding… 

The realization comes to his slow and tired mind and then makes all other thoughts slam on the brakes. 

Why was she not healing?

That curse, what was it?

She had moved him out of its range and whatever it was had sliced her all the way from the knee towards the hip. Her breathing comes back ragged as if she has been submerged underwater for far too long. The faint traces of gold can be seen around the edges of the wound, yet it’s not closed yet. Hermione panics seeing unseen delusions. Her magic lashes out around her in a protective manner and he hardly registers the cut that comes across his face deep until he feels the dull throb. 

He blinks and then quickly throws off his jacket trying to hold it onto the wound. 

She can’t die, right?

“Hermione! ” He tries but she doesn't hear him. He attempts to restrain her and manages to get a few tree roots to get a strong grip on her middle. She thrashes still and he really is regretting trying to do anything. He is too tired to be trying to protect him with magic. 

“Get a hold of yourself.” He shouts at her. And she looks at him as if she has never known him. Like he is that version of himself in the Chamber of secrets. 

His arm that is injured trembles with him leaning on it to put pressure on the wound. 

Why is it not stopping?

Please stop, he wills it. His hands slipping with the blood on them. 

“Hermione.” He can’t hold her. She is exhausted but her magic is a lot more strong, raw, and unfiltered at the moment. 

“Hox…” She manages and the house-elf appears with a crack. 

The thing looks at him like he is in the wrong. Like he is the one that caused this damage to its master. He probably looks particularly helpless because its face loses the extremely harsh and judgemental look pretty quickly. 

“Help me,” Tom commands it. “She is losing blood and fast.”

He has a feeling this time isn’t like the times before it. There is something indeed wrong with the curse that has been placed on her. There is blackening skin around the injury. The elf notes it rolling up the pant legs to better expose the flesh. It reminds him of the bombs and the returning soldiers that were missing limbs. 

“Fix this.” He tells it helplessly. He doesn’t know what to do. 

He doesn’t know what he will do if she dies for real. 

“Hox expected something like this, though he thought it would be Riddle that needed the assistance.” The elf takes off the small bag. “Do not just watch, Riddle, wash the wound off with water if you please.” 

Its tone breaks him out of his daze. It had taken on a rather bossy tone with him, considering he was a wizard and it was an elf. It just seemed bizarre. Though this whole situation is starting to feel surreal. Perhaps he will wake up soon. 

He really would wring its neck but he did need its help and Hox is pushing him around moving his hands. 

There was so much blood...

“Any day Riddle.” 

He did as it asked. He can feel his vision darkening as his core as he is reaching the point of magical exhaustion and it might have been that he was still bleeding too. 

“Took you long enough.” Hox huffs. “Though, Riddle seems to be in just as bad shape.” 

The creature pulled out a vile of something and tossed it over the wound. There was the sound of sizzling and the flesh burned and knitted back together. Hermione made noises that Tom would have associated with animals rather than people. The restraints come loose and Tom quickly casts an imobilus. His nose starts bleeding a little bit.

Fuck… 

He blinks away the darkness sinking further onto his knees. His grip on his wand becoming crushing. Hermione is still trembling through the spell. Trying to breakthrough, and he can’t will his body to try another. He is so light-headed. 

He doesn’t realize that he has collapsed till he wakes up in the sand. 

“Mistress is stable again.” The Elf is far too close to his face, crouching down so that its ugly nose is near touching his. “Hox moved her inside. Riddle need not move, Hox can carry him.” 

Before he can protest he finds himself being lifted up into the air. The change in gravity and the jerking motion makes him vomit. Hox makes a face as he recovers. 

“I can walk, put me down.” He demands. 

“Hox doubts that.” The elf scuffs. “Hox sees your injuries, feels your weak attempts at magic. Hox will take care of little Riddle because Mistress cares greatly for him and because Riddle helped Mistress.” 

Tom blinks a few times trying to register what the elf had said. This elf hated him. Always wanted him to figure things out for himself and do everything himself. It refused to clean his room, do his laundry unless Hermione had handed it off, or even make tea for him unless its Mistress wished it. 

“Hox is reluctant to praise Riddle.” The elf took them both inside to the small house. “He thinks it will go to his fathead.” The elf snaps and drops him into the armchair surprisingly gentle. 

Tom’s too tired to comment on its choice of words. 

“Hox is grateful to Riddle.” The elf digs through its bag setting potions on the small coffee table. “Mistress means everything to Hox. Hox’s old master tortured him because the Dark Lord found it amusing to have the young master practice unforgivables.”

Tom leaned back into the chair not putting any weight onto his arm. The only thing keeping him conscience was the stinging of his other injuries and the things grating voice. 

“Master had been soft compared to his other family, at first he could not mean it. Hox had watched him since he was a toddler. Hox loved his Master and his master loved Hox so Hox thought. Hox comforted, Hox cleaned, Hox made the best food and tea. And as a reward Master cut off Hox’s toes and pulled off Hox’s fingernails. Not because the Master was ordered, but because he thought that it would be interesting.” 

The elf’s withered hands were scared, and Tom had never bothered to look at them. But they were lines, lines that were too straight to be accidental. Hox, dampen a cloth and run it over the smaller cuts on Tom’s legs before adding a healing potion that stung. 

“Hox is reminded of the young Master when Hox looks at Riddle. The same magic hangs around him. But Riddle is not like the old Master. Hox understands this now. Hox is sorry for suggesting a test to see if Riddle could feel remorse.”

The pain isn’t enough to distract him from that. “You…”

The elf bandages with skilled hands the one on his arm. Tugging lightly at his shirt and putting magical stitches into his skin. 

“Hox knows what Riddle is. Hox has met the one not to be named many, many times. Hox was scared Riddle would be the end of Mistress. Mistress that healed Hox from the break of death sacrificed blood for Hox. Never has a house-elf been nursed back to health, shown such care, treated as equal. Mistress means everything to Hox, Hox would not jeopardize her. Many have come into Mistress’s life and hurt her. Hox has disposed of some of them.”

Tom closes his eyes resting any urge to hurt the thing. Knowing how loyal it was to Hermione could not be too horrible of a thing. But the thought that there was a little assassin that could get past wards that were not meant to get past was a tad frightening. And he knew that Hox would do it too. The thing was pretty good at being spiteful and quiet on its feet. He could let himself slip into sleep like this, but the second that the elf touches his face he opens his eyes again. 

“Bad curse scare.” The elf is standing on the chair’s arm. “Might not heal right.” It puts a small pad that is potion soaked over it. 

“I won’t hurt her.” Tom tries to steal the remnants of his magic. Perhaps if he says it Hox will actually believe him. He hates being touched, and even if it needs to be done, his nerves are near fired. 

“Hox knows.” The elf nods. “Hox asks Riddle to continue to help keep her from leaping before thinking.” 

He easily agrees to that one, even if that is not perhaps a doable task. Hermione is a force of nature, she has her own rules and once set on something would finish the task. Like water that eroded all eventually that sort of force, and persistence is too much for even him at times. 

He doesn’t know what he would do without her, though. At the moment he at least had direction, purpose he supposed that he didn’t have for a long time. He has been living this life so far, it feels like it's all he ever has known, will know. Everything else from his old life, before he was broken off, feels jagged, and like it doesn’t fit anymore. 

He did not even start to think about what he wants after all this. It catches him off guard. Before he had made better terms with Hermione he had been just interested in survival. But now, he had options he supposed _IF_ they survived Voldemort. 

Was there even an after? 

What was he even supposed to do, if they did manage to defeat his other-self? What place in the world could someone from the 1940s truly have? 

He hardly registers the washcloth getting the blood off of his hands as he turns the idea over in his mind. Hermione had promised him paperwork, an education, and to walk free. That word Free though seems like an impossibility. He has never really known what to do without supervision. Look at what he managed to do to himself the second that he had the taste of power. So far he had always had at least a little guidance and direction. School, a small part-time job, possibly move up the ladder in a ministry job, become more powerful by traveling, change the wizarding world for the better. A pipe dream really, he just had enough will to make it happen. Simpler times, simple-minded dreams, and acts of petty revenge. 

“Rest. Then in the morning. Hox will bathe you.” The elf moves out of his personal space. He is clean with cleaning spells but there is still dirt that will not come off. Sins crawling, under his skin. 

Could something like him even fit into the new world? 

All it would take is someone to know what he is… and it would be all over. 

Hox disappears in a pop and he doesn’t have to question where it went, no doubt to Hermione’s side. Tom just reclines the damn chair because he doubts that he would be able to make it up the stairs. 

~/*\~

He slept like the dead but when he woke Hox had a bath waiting. Tom will never speak of the oddity it was to be helped into the bath and then bathed by an elf. He can’t say that he would have been able to everything off of himself. Not with the way that he felt stiff everywhere and his magical core was reminding him very much that he was human if just enough it. 

This home belonged to a family at one point. He can guess what happened to them. A pretty woman that looked like an angel and a redhead that reminded of the boy he had seen in the Chamber. They had framed photos and he wondered if they were really happy being married when this war was supposed to have started. 

When he is done exploring, searching through the rooms, he sat with Hermione, she had sat with him and it feels just like something he should do. Half the things in life he has done because he was told to or it would seem like the right decision based on what he had observed from others' social interactions. 

He doesn’t know where the obligation to help her outside of his vows has come from, but he feels empty when he is not with her. He doesn’t know why his heart squeezes funny thinking that she had blocked the killing curse for him, that she saved him from that other spell as well one that put her into this bed. He had blocked spells for her as well, but he had faltered. He had been terrified when looking at the monster that was left of him. He didn’t know what else he could have done to activate their way out, but if he had done it sooner…

He shuts his eyes, it probably wouldn’t have mattered…

Hardly anything he does well-meaning or not ends up blowing up in his face. He rubs his brow. 

She had been fighting this alone up till this point and that sits strangely in him. They had both been alone for so long, trapped in their heads, in their own worlds of ruin. She Saved him from the diary, and perhaps he could be of use to her in ensuring that the future that she had been stuck in never happens. His new place, future could be trying to clean up this aftermath. He is sure that it would be rewarding, challenging, and an outlet for some of his less redeeming qualities. He wouldn’t mind being the black sheep. He knows she has probably worse skeletons in her closet but she would not be able to put them on full display easily when she took over things. The new order had to be just, fair, seeming. Murder and intimidation were the defining traits of this order. But there were still darker things that needed to be done, and a person like him could accomplish that. He might enjoy some of it. 

~/*\~

Severus stares at the blood sample in front of him. He has tried a few things with it. It had strong magical properties. It was reactive to many of the potions that he has applied. Perhaps the most telling of the substance was its golden glow and the small grains that seemed to form at the bottom of his test tube if he was to separate it all. Blood clumped into a pellet that had iron of course but a fine dusting of rocky grains. He shifted thought that further until he was left with just fine gold powder. 

There wasn’t much of this, and he was unsure exactly what to do with it. He placed it into the smallest flask he had. It hardly was able to cover the bottom. He shifted it to the side, trying to get a more even coat. He then placed that down onto the table. 

An odd feeling overtook him. 

He held the flask in his hand again. Had he not just moved this over?

He did so again, placing it to the side of his workbench. 

And that odd feeling came back with a vengeance. He tilted the glass this time much more than originally on purpose and as it shifted so did the space around him. He could see the clock and he had gone back nearly half an hour. 

He blinked in disbelief. 

How was this possible?

What was this? 

It was like someone had taken a time turner and injected it into the bloodstream. But what even was the effect of doing so? 

Was this how she had healed the damage or was that something else? It certainly could explain how the killing curse had hit her and she was fine, she just made it so that it never hit her. 

He made sure to remove himself from the lab so that his past self would not run into his present self. Even if he had not time traveled himself, he knew perfectly well the rules. But if that was true, that she could control time and use it to her will, then that had to be how she knew things about all the students, the staff, the corridors so well. 

He ran a hand through his graying hair. He up until this point did not think there was a person alive that could fight the Dark Lord and win. He had protections, protections that Asterope had been stripping away. She had gone to that vault to get one. It would explain why Voldemort had sent nearly everyone in his power to stop the perpetrator. 

Had she gone back in time for the Diary? Potter had given the destroyed object back to Malfoy and freed that annoying elf. But has she ensured it? Made sure that Potter was successful at killing the beast or had she done it herself and then gave false memories.

His head hurt while thinking about it. How many lies would have been put in place, the webs that would have to have been woven? It reminded him far too much of the old man that’s painting is still hanging in his office. Her hate of Dumbledore had been tangible at times, for someone that hated games she certainly had created a complex one. A name that was to spell ally perhaps to Harry Potter, a name that challenged greater authority even at the cost of one’s own life. And only one story and narrative where the Nymph was successful. And that success was built on taking out the objects that the Dark Lord had placed his soul. 

Severus knew of 4. The locket that Potter and Albus went after, Potter himself, The Diary that started the hunt, and the ring that had disappeared after Dumbledore’s death. There had to have been one in the vault and she had been smug about taking that one. 

So in theory she had 1 to 2 left. 

Dare he have hope it was possible that this war, this rain of terror was coming to an end? The bitter part of himself doesn’t wish to have something as foolish as that word. The very tired part of himself argues that it doesn’t matter. 

One thing was for certain. This is not information that the Dark Lord could have access to now, if not ever. A person that could bleed time. He needed to get his hands on the Ministry’s blood matching results. If he was going to find her, get a real answer, he needed her real name.

~/*\~

Hermione opens her eyes and meets the big ones of Tom. He looks tired but smiles at her when he notices that she is awake. There is a large, older book balancing on his thin legs. 

“Can I get you anything?” He tilts his head. “You were out for quite a while.” 

She closes her eyes again, head pounding. “Water would be nice for now then some tea.” 

Even talking feels like a chore. She should just be grateful that the Reaper had left her alone in her near-death experience and Tom looks like he is fine. Just a few bandages on his face. 

“I can do that.” He shut the book and shot up, going across the room to get a glass from the table. And she almost laughed at the eagerness. But she is sure that if she does that she will be in pain, there is a sharp pain in her side and in her legs. She wiggled up to a sitting position. Leaning heavily on the headboard for support. She shut her eyes and bumped her head lightly against the wood taking in deep breaths. She could have fallen back asleep. 

Tom awkwardly handed her the drink and held it when her hand trembled embarrassingly. His hand wrapped around hers, they were warm. She drank carefully and slowly. She studied his movement as he moved the glass out of the way. His arm was not moving the best, fortunately not his wand one. 

“How are you feeling, little snake?” 

He frowned. “I am alright.” He said after a slight hesitation. 

“And yet you are frowning deeply and your eyes betray you.” She knows him well enough she likes to think.

“You were out for 2 weeks.” Tom explains, “The curse that hit you turned off your healing, you just kept bleeding… and then you wouldn’t wake.” He trailed off, looking at the quilts pattern rather than her.

“I am sorry for scaring you.” She reaches out and grabs his thin fingers, wrapping her hand over his. It is strange that she didn’t realize how large they were till now. Growing up, even if it wasn’t physically. It had been nearly a year of them working together and he looked exactly the same. Except something in his face has changed. He is older in the ways of the world she supposes. 

“You should be more sorry for scaring your elf,” Tom mutters clearly taken off guard by her kindness again. His face is rather a nice shade of pink. He is usually so pale. 

“I am sure that Hox was worried. He tends to get that way, even if I trip.” 

Tom laughs at that and it's a warm rich sound. She has to have hit her head harder than she thought when she had ridden that large dragon out of the caverns. 

“It would not stop prattling on how I had better make sure that it never happens again.” He shakes his head. “Like I could control you in any way.” 

She chuckles a little to that. “You learned that one better than Hox in such a short amount of time.”

“Anyone blind could tell that much.” Tom huffs. “You truly are Gryffindor through and through standing up to him like that. I think you might have a death wish.” 

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t like dying. It's an inconvenience I do not have time for.” 

“Then don’t do it again,” Tom says seriously, gripping her hand a bit stronger. 

And it clicks for her, that she was probably all that he had. It made sense that this would mess with him deeply, caring about a person was quite difficult. And she knows that she is not the easiest person to care for. 

“I can’t die.” She reminds him kindly. 

“There are fates worse than death.” Tom disagrees. 

She can agree to that one. “Don’t worry.” 

He sighs as if she has asked him to stop the sun from setting, the annoyance that is usually there for this sort of action is not there. He just looks tired. There is a storm brewing in his eyes and she feels the argument coming. 

“We’re in the business of taking down one of the most feared and evil people to exist since perhaps Morgana herself. I can not promise not to get hurt, as it's an occupational hazard. But I can try my best not to allow for it to happen and I won’t leave you alone.” She tries to reassure, cancel the fight before it happens. She is not interested in being lectured at the moment. 

He takes his hand back from her in order to rub at his tired eyes. “I think that is about as good as I am going to get and I really am not a child. I can handle being alone for periods of time.”

“I don’t think of you as a child.” She shakes her head, but it's a lie. He looks just like her students and acts like the ones that were near graduation. He is mature, but lacking real-world knowledge and experience. 

“You know your lips twitch when you lie.” Tom folds his arms tightly against himself, protectively. “I know you think I am 17 but I’m not. I spent 50 years in a diary at that point we’re pretty much the same age. I hate when you act like I can’t handle myself, or need some sort of extra assurance. I thought that it would change the more I showed you what I was capable of handling. But you still look at me… like.” He cuts himself off. 

“I don’t think of you as a child. I am aware that you can handle yourself. I would not bring you along to things unless I knew you were capable.” She repeats herself. 

“Then don’t leave yourself open to protect me.” Tom grips his arms tighter. 

“You can not ask that of me.” Hermione lowers her voice, holds back her anger, bottling it and shoving it deep down. 

“I’m not helpless and he knows what to expect next time. He knows you can heal and that the killing curse will not work. He is going to try something worse and he knows that we have 2 left. If I were him I would be keeping better close eyes on them.” 

Tom points out it all logically and yes it is true. But this is not one of the things that are based on logic.

“I know you are not helpless. I know why you think that it's important to remind me of this little snake, but it's not that simple...” 

“Trust me to take care of myself,” Tom repeats. 

“It's not that I don’t trust you.” She snaps. “I just care about you.” 

His face becomes unreadable for a moment. It seems that her statement has touched him, with the way that he grips a little harder at his arm. “Were in the business as you say to topple Dark Lords and a corrupt government an Army of 2. If it comes to giving him access to your blood and me. Think what is the better option. He can use time travel and don’t expect him to have restraint as you do in using it.” 

“You have grown up Tom.” That is all that she can think to say. She doesn’t pick apart her doubt in resurrecting him with the slight adjustments that have been made to his soul and the bit borrowed. Just lets herself be impressed that he trusts her to save him some other way, or is willing to die for the world. Either is enough to bring a sense of warmth to her chest unlike any other.

He scowls at her, his voice lacks heat as he has seemed to have won. “Then don’t call me those abhorrent nicknames like little one and little snake. ” 

“I called all my friends names. We used to come up with one's for each other. Though since you feel older I suppose I can take out the word little.” She smiles fondly thinking about simpler times at the Gryffindor table and the common room.

“Harry and Ron used to call me all sorts. Harry even jokingly would call himself the chosen one and we were the golden trio together.” Her smile fades. “This house belonged to one of Ron’s brothers. Bill and his wife. I actually hated her when she was alive. I thought she was so pretty, so conceited and yet she was one of the bravest people. She fought till the end and loved Bill even after he was mauled by a werewolf.” 

“I saw the photos,” Tom says awkwardly dropping the nickname issue for now. “She looked happy.” 

“I like to think she was. I regret not congratulating her, not sharing that joy, and overlooking some of the things that I didn’t like.”

Tom seems to think about saying something but doesn’t. He just drops his folded arms and stands. “I will make some tea. Hox is getting supplies for the home.” 

Hermione nods, letting him slip out. 

~/*\~

Tea takes a little bit. Tom knows what he is doing, it just will never be as good as the elves and that bothers him slightly, even if it shouldn’t. 

It really shouldn’t. 

He takes the cups and dishes carefully up the stairs. Wondering if the woman that lived here ever used some of the nicer cups she has in the china cabinets. Hermione’s regret had been tangible. He had thought to say that he regretted… what happened with some of the other Mudbloods of his house. They had tried to help him if not in a roundabout way. He had petrified one of them just for gratification and praise from useless purebloods. He had snapped at the older girl for even thinking to try and comfort him. He had always been good at chasing others off. 

Tea is had in near silence. If Hermione liked or hated it she did not comment. She just drank it. Self-conscience as he was he could not bring himself to call attention to the fact he didn’t think it was that good. 

She finishes and hands him the cup. “Another if you would.” 

He smiles despite himself. 

~/*\~

“Are you and Hox getting along better?” Hermione asks as she takes the cup from him and he is tempted to steady it, but she brushes him off. She never did like help. 

“I suppose as well as we can. Hox is not a fan of humans.”

“No, and I’m not that big on them myself, with a few exceptions of course.” She catches his gaze and smiles. 

“I feel the same.” He agrees, folding his hands nicely in his lap for a moment. “This belongs to you,” he pulls out a small box, the one that she had given him to hold onto. 

“Ah, yes it does.” She nods as he passes it over to her. “I admit that I missed it. It and I have been through a lot together.” 

She feels against the velvet tracing the clasp and taking out the shimmering gold piece. Her body hurts too much to try and reach up herself. So she ends up just holding it. 

“I can help you put it on.” Tom eyes her longing. 

He takes it from her and seconds later, she can feel his warm fingers against her neck. It takes him a little longer than she thought it should, but then the clasp is small and he has unskilled hands. He steps away a minute later and returns to his seat. The weight feels nice. 

“Thank you.” She taps it and notices that he is wearing the real one. She wonders if Hox brought it to him on one of his visits to their real house. They no doubt had been waiting till she was better to leave the alternative safe house. 

“You’re welcome.” He actually seems happy to have helped her. It sends a slight tingle down her spine. She did not know if the way that he was acting was a good thing or a bad thing. Having him more open to talking with her about anything was nice, but also strange. 

Perhaps we have moved to the point of being friends.

“I have been thinking.” Tom seems to be looking for the right words to phrase his next sentence. “About the diadem, I was interested in it. I had befriended the ghost that had once owned it and I am sure I was able to convince it to tell me where it was.” 

Hermione gestured for him to continue.

“I had considered leaving one of my Horcruxes within the walls of Hogwarts. I had Hox get some papers and check in on the school.” 

Hermione frowned and Tom took that as a need to hurry along. 

“Voldemort has been visiting the castle often. This might be because the after Winter term is starting but it might also be because he is checking to make sure that nothing disturbs it.” 

Hermine brings her hand to her lips thinking about it. “I checked the chamber when I took your diary from it with me.”

“That wouldn’t be where I hid it.” 

She raises her eyebrow. 

“I had a place I went to hide often.” He sets his jaw. “I am not proud of it, but I was seen as… Muggleborn… for a time. I had to escape bullies of other houses and mine often and the room would always appear for me. Later when I was trying to become more than my status I would experiment with magic in that room.”

“The room of requirements.” Hermione sighs. “I checked the whole damn castle and that is where he must have hidden it.” It hits her a second after the vulnerability that showed from the other. 

“Snake come here.” She opened her arms the best that she could. 

He blinks at her. 

“Come here.” She repeats herself rolling her eyes. “Honestly...” 

He moves closer stiffly and she tugs him into a hug. He is ridged a moment, reminding her of a wooden board. It takes him a few moments to become responsive, hands moving slowly to grab at her back and then he melts a little into it, absorbing it like it's something very precious to him. 

‘You have grown up a lot, but are still childish in many ways.’ She thinks to herself as she gives him a soft pat to tell him that she was going to let go. 

~/*\~

Securing the ministry results doesn’t take nearly the effort that he feared it might. Voldemort was such a paranoid, cautious creature, that he didn’t like his followers having all of the pieces. Not even ones that he favored. Severus is very aware of how lucky he had been on several occasions not to be buried under the earth. But Voldemort wants this mystery solved. He keeps digging, pestering, and scheming. Severus thinks that he is even more dangerous if that is possible. Nagini is never far from his side. 

Still, he has been able to acquire the needed documents and all that it does is bring more confusion. The blood matches, but only just enough that it appears to be one of Ganger’s relatives. He wants to toss all the notes he has into the fire, he wants to smash his potions.

Nothing makes sense.

~/*\~

It takes a few more weeks before Hermione has come up with a plan and is healed enough to enact it. Tom on the other hand is not someone that she can convince. 

“No.” Tom hisses. “I won’t allow it.” 

“I am not asking you to allow it.” Hermione stirs the potion she has been working on for the past few hours. She has to replace the potions that they had used in the healing process and she doesn’t trust anything store-bought to be nearly as effective as her own. 

“You aren’t going to Hogwarts alone.” Tom was shaking, his fists tight. “We can’t help you if you are to get into trouble. Hox told you the wards have been updated. Even it can’t get in.”

“I will be fine.” Hermione shakes her head. “I have snuck in and out of the castle more times than I can name. I will have the cloak and will be invisible to all unfriendly eyes. I have a map that tells me all that is on the grounds.” 

“You promised.” Tom throws back her words at her. 

“I promised not to risk myself needlessly.” She turns it back to him, letting her potion sit so she can put her hand on his shoulder. “It is riskier for you or Hox to come. The more disturbance there is to the wards the worse that it will be and the cloak is not big enough for the both of us to move under.” 

He pulls away from her attempt at comfort. “I could go.” 

“You have not been since the chamber incident, and even that was only when you possessed Ginny.” Hermione reminds him. “Hardly suitable for this task. I plan to talk to someone about joining the cause or getting out of London.”

Tom sighed deeply. “Is it _That_ person.” 

She had told him very little of Severus only enough to explain why she had stopped his curse. 

“Yes.” She says simply. 

“You can’t trust him to still be on your side,” Tom said stubbornly. “Or that you will not be attacked.” 

“No, I can’t.” Hermione shakes her head. “But I don’t think that he will.” 

“You’re impossible.” Tom takes a deep breath, which seems to clear all his remaining fight out of it. Putting his hand to his hair and running it through his hair a few times, leaving puffed tufts that remind her so much of Harry. 

“I am glad I have your blessing.” She says smugly, flattening his hair back down with him batting her hands away. It makes her laugh before she retreats back to her potion. She would leave once this one was done. 

~/*\~

The lake greets her. Its waters lapped against the shore. There is not a soul in her favorite spot. She stands still and watches the waves rock back and forward. Each small movement brings up rocks smoothed by time and other sediments. She tightens the cloak around herself and takes deep breaths. She knows of many ways to get into the castle even with the door barred, even with the resistance of old and new wards. So many precautions, so many curses, and evil spun and woven into the arrays. A poison to the once shining magic. 

The wards did hold against Animagus, but there were some cracks and chips that were there by the castle's rejection of the binds on her. The school recognizes her, and it knows why she has come. She had not done this for too long, not since the days in the wastes. When her legs had felt like giving out when she had nothing better to do with her time. She had taken to trying to become an animagus among other skills, anything to survive and anything to one day have an advantage when she got home. In that time, that world, life had returned, in the form of plants, vegetations, and she had lingered in places that showed this quality. Still cold, still mostly dead, and barren, these gave her hope, a sign of the circles and cycles that Death had later mentioned to her. She ties her things down, shrinks them smaller, and shifts herself through one of the openings to the wards in a tiny body and tiny frame. Climbing into the sky with reluctance. Never one for flying. It made sense in a twisted way what her form would be. 

Huginn is flying through the wards with greater ease than her, the large raven caws at her and acts to be chasing her or showing aggression to those that may wonder why a thrush does not fly the way that it should. With luck, they would attribute it to that and not the weight that she carries. The tiny nightingale frame takes her easily to the higher windows. And Huginn scares off the owls as she makes it into the corridor. 

She waits in the rafters among the cobwebs till there are fewer children below her and all the castle has gone to sleep. She then glides down and changes to the safety of her human form and adorns the cloak. Paying close attention to the map to avoid the few people that are out to patrol the castle. 

“Alright, Hogwarts.” She whispers to herself. “Don’t let me down.” She closes her eyes. ‘I really don’t want to bring Tom with me back here.’ She adds as an afterthought. He would be just too smug about the fact that she did need him after all. ‘Just let me have the diadem. I need the diadem, the one that was hidden. I need it more than anything. Please let what was hidden become unhidden.’

She gives her demand, her need, her want, and asks. Asks with the ache Tom Riddle must have felt when he asked for a place to hide from his tormentors. Or Draco with his desperation to fix the vanishing cabinet and the door forms. The wood solidified against the stone. 

The room opens up for her, and Hogwarts gifts her the object that she seeks. It's resting on a table in a nice small box. She approaches it carefully. The projections on it light up the floor, and she shuts her eyes. Of course, Voldemort would add something, a trigger should someone know just what they needed to ask for. 

The glow to the array pulses, each alive with red dark magic intent. Death and pain awaited those that were to cross to the diadem. She can see a form taking shape in the shadows of the room, just a slightly darker hue than the usual shadow. 

Death. 

She smiled tightly. This room was built for a human, but she can not be sure that if she was to go defenseless and fly over it all that there were no spells for that. 

She takes a step forward and the arrays react, switching quickly trying to hone on where her foot just put pressure. “Ah, so we shall need to dance.” 

She runs, she twists, she turns and bends. She shields and puts her own magic to drift over the lines, to still them, to snip them. She weaves and flings herself through a narrow gap. Her hair sizzles at the end from the heat of the spells. And she reaches the table. She tears at the sleeve of her robe and grabs the damn thing, plunging her hand through the wards. 

She feels the biting of cold, her hand starts to bleed, but she takes the diadem all the same. Her vision becomes clouded with the worst images that she has ever experienced. Her friends dying, the executions, herself being cut open. Each step to the array is blurred. 

Each step feels like a stab to the chest. She keeps moving, through the pleas for her friends and family. She shuts her eyes and trusts her mind to retrace the steps she has already done. 

~/*\~

It has been too long a day, he sits finally in the chair by his fire. Tea is set before him, though he wants something much stronger. Whiskey perhaps would have been what was needed, drown his misfortunes and force himself to get up again in the morning. These excuses for teachers is going to be the end of him. There are so few competent people left to teach the next generation. The Dark Lord had stooped to higher out of pocket. 

Death Eaters and the worst of humanity teaching young, moldable minds. He can think of no less of a terrible turn of events. 

He hears his chamber door open and feels that wards converge on a spot. He opens his eyes to a wand, and a familiar face, feet from him. Her pretty face has not changed in the years that it has been. It is unmistakably her. 

“So it has come to this?” The wand is pointed at him and he is not close enough to recognize the curves. It is unmistakably Hermione’s. “Who are you really, may I ask?” 

He holds his hands where she can see them. He is tired and his posture reflects it. Though after all of his research all that he wants is the truth. He feels owed that at the very least. Especially if she is going to try and get information out of him. 

“Most people ask me what I am.” She lowers her wand. Her smile is forced. She doesn’t look nearly as composed as she usually did in their little meetings before this. She had always been quick to make a joke, unbalance him with kindness or politeness. She stands near the fire, though she does not turn her back to him she inspects the mantle. 

“No, you don’t seem human.” He presses, he has a very bad feeling regarding what she has done to herself. It matters not who she is to carry Time in their blood… to split a soul for immortality... 

“I was once.” Her eyes soften. “Human, I mean. I still am in many ways.” 

He nods his head, though it is not even close to the answer that he is looking for. But then when has she ever given him the true answer he seeks. 

“I didn’t make Horcruxes, I am not like him.” She denied strongly as if reading his thoughts. “Do not look at me as if I were a monster. I am many things but I have tried so desperately not to become one.” 

Her confidence cracks slightly and Severus could pull that apart if he wanted to, but she still cared for him. He can tell by the way that she demands him not to see her as such. It might not even have mattered to her what others thought but it matters what he thinks of her. And he remembers when he had apologized and she had turned it on its head. Not asking for one, not wanting one, for the things he had done. She had done horrible things as well...

“I'll ask you again who are you?” He presses. 

“Who do you think I am?” She answers with the same answer from years ago. She has taken deep breaths and is calm again. Her wet eyes look at his and he can see now that bloodlines her sleeve. 

“I am not even sure anymore at one point I thought I knew.” He accuses her, tone betraying more information than he wanted to. 

“I never lied to you, only allowed you to make your own assumptions on who I was.” She denies. “Though to someone that is a spy, was a spy,” She corrects. “It probably does not matter.”

“No.” He agrees. “It doesn’t really. I am very used to that type of manipulation.” 

He wounds her with that, it's in her eyes. “I did not wish to hurt you. I regret that I could not stay, I regret what has become of you. I can only alter things so far, there are limits to my abilities.”

“He has me looking into your blood,” Severus warns her the need to help her is still there. His heart beating hard in the cavern of his chest . 

“I take it then you know what it does.” She acknowledges. “You are the best in your field.” Her compliment is sincere even if they are on different seeming sides at the moment. “I came to warn you. Just as you used to do me.” 

“Oh, and what did you come to warn me about.” His eyes drift towards his door. There is none that can listen in to this room, but that doesn’t mean that there are those not waiting outside of it. 

“I took something important from him from the school tonight.” She steps closer to him. “I know that you know what it is. I know that you told Harry this information indirectly with your Patronus that is a doe. I am very close Severus. I need only one more.” 

She doesn’t curse him. She doesn’t demand him to tell her what it is. 

“I am not asking you to join me. I don’t think that I would trust me in your position. I am asking you, as someone that…” She cut herself off. She takes a deep breath. “Please just leave. You know he will kill you even if you did not know of its location. He is more unstable now than ever.” 

He looks at her and she meets that gaze squaring her jaw in a move that he has seen granger perform on many occasions. 

“Our goals align despite my distrust in you.” He says finally. “You seek to end his acts of terror and are the best shot that we have at it. The last one I suspect would be the snake.” 

“Yes, Nagini is one. Even if Harry had not told me that he could feel it in her. I would have deduced it. She is the closest thing he can come to loving.” She shifts her weight, listening to the halls around them, the creak of the old castle. 

Severus shivers at the thought of Voldemort loving anything. “He has taken to make sure that she is never out of arm's reach.” 

“That would make planning to kill her all that more difficult. She is not only a Horcrux but your not so typical mindless beast.” Severus watches her carefully. “I am sure you noticed but this is not the place to talk about this.” 

She holds out her hand. “If you truly want to help come with me. I trust you. I have faith in you, even be it times reluctantly.”

Her brown eyes shine in the dull lighting. She gives him an out if he wants it. All he had to do is not take her hand. But even now, he wants to. It could damn him, but he supposed he was dead either way.

He takes her hand. “Be honest with me, I want to know the truth behind who you are.” 

“I can be more honest than in the past, we can not alter it beyond repair now.” She agrees and he feels magic in the air. She had made a vow. Did she trust him that much? She smiled at him again with a look of longing and care. That old flame he thought he had buried ignites again. Gold sparkles around old scars to the roots of her hair. She holds onto his hand a little tighter and he can feel the air around them shift and they touch down on a sandy beach. 

She drops his hand. 

“I know this is asking a lot, but trust me in this one thing at the very least. My apprentice means a great deal to me if you harm him I will retaliate even if I do not wish to harm you.” 

Severus doesn't doubt her words. He had seen the boy she had protected in the bank and so he agrees.


	14. The Boy, The Time Traveler, and the Potion Master

She trusts him, only just so. Not enough to turn her back to him yet but enough to take him to this safe house. There is no danger should he actually betray them, but she can not imagine a world where Severus would truly turn completely to the dark side. No one could truly want Voldemort to live, except the madman himself. Severus would perhaps decline to help them when this conversation was through, but she could not see him running back to the castle to report any of it. The only thing she has to worry greatly about is Tom. He isn’t exactly something that Severus is going to get over when he finds out the truth. 

She leads him up the beach keeping to his side, if not just slightly ahead. Tom is waiting in the doorframe, his arms folded, and already decided that he did not like the appearance of Severus. 

“Did it go well?” His wand is drawn and his brown eyes hold a look of mistrust. 

All she had to do was shake her head and she has no doubt that Tom would be on the attack. She had noticed a shift in him since her accidental back out for 2 weeks. He was more obsessive about their time together, and perhaps more worried. She didn’t think she really needed a protective teenage boy, especially one Tom Riddle, but the fates worked funny that way. 

She nodded. “As well as it could have.” 

His eyes drift to her hand and arm where there was drying blood. His eyes narrow, but he wisely does not call attention to it. He moves to let them enter. Hox shuffles forward, hand out for the thing she has shrunk in her pocket. 

“Touch nothing but the cloth. I canceled out the charms on it, but should you take it out of the scrap it will react.” Hermione hands the bloody sleeve piece and wrapped tightly a small box to the elf.

“Hox understands and will be back.” The elf pops from the room. 

Severus stares at the place that it vanished from as if that is another piece to his puzzle that doesn’t fit. 

“Perhaps we should sit.” Hermione gestures towards the living room. Tom waits for Severus to enter before entering himself. They both seemed to be a stare-off. “Honestly, can we try and talk before we make decisions about hating one another.”

Tom’s frown deepened. “I don’t hate him. I just distrust him, he is an active Death Eater. I still am convinced that we can do this without him.” 

So far Tom has just been going along with this for her sake she is sure. Severus doesn’t deny the accusation as he sits on the one sofa and Hermione sits on the other. Tom takes the chair between them. They have a strange U shape going on. 

“Little Snake, I would like you to reflect on that statement and not be quick to call the kettle black, or to discount Severus’s usefulness to us if he does join us.” She responds kindly. 

Tom scowls and she knows she has wounded his pride but calling him ‘little.’ She is in the habit of using it and she doesn't feel like introducing Tom Riddle and getting into a fight long before she needs to. This is a delicate operation and needed more cleverness than the other was capable of. Severus was a liar for a living and had others lie to him. He would see right through him.

Severus is looking at Tom as if trying to place if he has ever met or taught him before. Tom folds his arms with his wand gripped loosely. Hox pops back into the room and Hermione nods to it. 

“Right away.” Hox bows and glares at Severus as he leaves.

“I recognize that elf.” Severus breaks the tense silence. 

“I am sure that you do. Hox most certainly remembers you.” Hermione sighs. “He is a bit jagged coming from _that_ house.”

“I would expect he would be.” Severus nodded in acknowledgment of the poor things suffering. 

“That reminds me.” Hermione watched the tea as it entered. “Hox.”

“Yes mistress.” Hox placed the cups in their respective places. 

“You did not add anything into the tea that should not be there.” She says seriously. 

Just some sugar to the young Apprentices.” Hox tilted his head as if not knowing what she was talking about. “He won’t add it unless he thinks others aren't watching. So Hox just makes his sweeter.” 

“Good.” Hermine dismissed him.

“Did you think that your elf would poison me?” Severus asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“It would not be the first time that Hox has taken it upon himself to protect me. He also tends to poison those that he finds annoying. It is a miracle that my Apprentice has not had any issues.” 

Tom scuffed. “It hated me the second that I took any attention from you. It is very begrudgingly that it does anything for me.” 

There is a touch of pride there as Tom had won that slight appreciation from Hox and Hox had in turn been kinder to Tom if the tea is made the way he liked it was any indication.

“You always did seem to collect the misfits.” Severus shifts the conversation. 

“I miss teaching.” Hermione picked up her teacup. “I loved running that club.”

Severus has an unreadable expression. “You seem to have picked someone up to teach. I am not familiar with this _Snake._

“I don’t expect you to be.” Hermione said flatly, a warning to him not to press her on that one.

“Is he human?” Severus asked plainly.

Tom looks slightly offended by the statement but manages to make it only that. She is glad he is getting better at acting. This would be over before it began if he wasn’t.

“He is human as I am.” She answers diplomatically. 

“Which you aren’t completely.” Severus interprets. 

“No.” She agrees.

“You aren’t thinking of telling him that.” Tom cuts in already voicing his disagreement with the way the conversation is going. 

“He already knows that my blood has time running through it.” Hermione soothes his concerns. “It doesn’t matter much to answer the other questions he has about me.” 

Seveurs watches their interaction, finally making a move to grab the tea that was set in front of him. He checks it, and she expects nothing less of him. 

“I think I shall start with this.” Hermione says after a moment, summoning parchment to her and charcoal which would be easier than ink. 

She sets to draw out a symbol that Severus should know. 

“The wand, the stone, and the cloak of invisibility.” She explains. “In my first life, Harry died leaving me the cloak and the stone. I died the first time in the Department of Mysteries. When I was thrust into the hourglass that held all the time sand in Ministry possession.” 

“Then you really are Granger.” Severus’s lip is twitching at the thought. “I had a feeling when I discovered the Time dust in the bloodstream considering how you disappeared for a while and when I compared handwriting but that doesn’t explain the ability for you to be in two places at once. Time does not work that way.” 

“Yes.” She answers him. “And no. For all purposes the Hermione Granger that you knew is dead. She died in the ministry and I was cast into the future. I have died many times since then so I am not really sure if I count in the time stream as her anymore.” 

Hermione shut her eyes a moment and as she opened them she noticed Tom had shifted in his seat closer to the sofa subtly. She gives a grim look back to Severus. Who looks very displeased with the information. It hurts a little the way that he is looking at her. It reminds her of Luna. This can’t be easy for him, she was his student. He had seen her grow up, or at least one version of her. That Hermione and her shared only some of the past. The timeline drifted a little since the first go. She had loved him and now he is looking at her much like he did from across the room in her first-year potions class.

“In the future, there was no life, no birds, no animals, no people. It was silent, cold, and ash.” Her eyes mist with the memories. “Endless years, endless walking, I needed to leave. I went to every ministry, every country, practiced every spell. Nothing worked. I got desperate and that is when I met it.”

Tom does not know this part. He looks more interested than before and makes no move to interrupt her. Severus’s eyes are transfixed on her. 

“I met Death. Thee Death, Reaper of souls, Shinigami, Hades, God of the Damned. Whatever you wish to call him. I summoned him with the resurrection stone and blood. I bought and bargained with my very life essence a pass back to this time for vengeance. I bent the rules of fate to steal Tom Riddle’s Diary.” 

Severus looks slightly pale. “There is an entity, truly of death?”

“Yes and he has 3 relics.”

“I figured it was important if you brought them up.” Severus’s grip tightened on his teacup. “This is problematic if it's not something wizard made and truly is something otherworldly.” 

He has some sympathy for her and is taking a little bit better than she thought. She had expected a little more of a fight about her speaking with the entity of death. 

“The brothers' tale is true to an extent, though he was far from tricked. Death likes deals and they are always in his favor for no matter the game he is always the winner. When you are someone outside of time things get predictable, boring, and tiring.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Severus puts his tea down and stares at her as if she has been playing some elaborate game with them all. She does not like the implication. She narrows her eyes. 

“I can see possible future events and have altered the threads of time accordingly. I don’t find them boring nor predictable. Just tiring, so very tiring.” She feels like she has lived too long and has little to show for it. 

“How far can you alter time?” Severus cuts her off. 

“There are things that I can not change.” Hermione does not shrink under his gaze. 

“How far can you alter time?” He demands, his body trembling. 

She tightens down her anger at that question. “I can change small things like who is a defense against the dark arts teacher, what the club that year was, the number of attacks, and who it is that slays the basilisk, who it is that defeats Tom Riddle in the Chamber.” 

“Why did you not stop this all? Not just alter it all? Who gives you the power to decide what events to allow to happen, must happen and what counts as small.” Severus is rightfully disturbed and confused. He also is hinting at their relationship with the way he is gripping at his arm. Her chest tightens.

Tom looks ready to react, to intervene; the Death Eater's tone has made him clutch at his wand. This is quickly getting out of hand. She knows that Tom would be more than happy to curse the other. She takes a deep breath. 

“Time itself can break. If I were to change some events I would tear a hole in reality, causing branches, and end the known universe as we know it. To play with Time is to play divine and Death and Life have rules at the core of it all.”

She had never met Life but the way that Death talked about her is enough to know how she functions. She likes to see the way her creations will develop, how they will change, and rise to the challenges or crumble under them. She and Death have been with each other since the beginning and love each piece to their respective collections. 

“Then why even attempt to change it?” Severus hisses, “You could have ended us all several times over.” 

Hermione raises her voice to meet his, losing her careful grip on her anger, patience, and control that she is supposed to have. 

“I saw billions burnt, the sky turn red, all because Voldemort starts World War 3. I have sniped the threads, altered small things to make butterfly effects. And like it or not the world’s fate, the universe, everything is tied to 4 people. And I don’t even know how to stop it all other than making sure that Voldemort never shows off the darker side of our kind to the world.” The silence is deafening. It rings in her ears. She lowers her voice, to a colder dead tone. “I don’t need you to tell me what not to do. I don’t need anyone to tell me who I should and should not have saved. I would have done anything to have saved Ron. I would have traded many lives for Harry to be alive even my own. I would alter time if I could to make it so that **_He_ ** never became that monster, Voldermort exists because of decades worth of mistakes. If I could go back and fix it all, end it all, do you not think I would?”

She had not been willing to admit that out loud now, that perhaps if things could be altered differently that she would save the boy in the room with her. Save him from himself. He needed it, a broken person like him would drag everyone down to his level, unleash hell on them all because it was all that he had known. He was a lonely scared boy that never grew up. Just became colder and more vengeful and angry.

It's impossible not to see some part of Tom in Voldemort and she has done what she said she would never do, view him as a person. View the person she hates most as that person. Voldemort is too far gone, but his younger self isn’t. And she can understand now Harry's last words to the madman. Try for remorse. Harry saw him even in that form as a mortal, and a destroyed person. Her body is shaking, she can feel her magic radiating through her body. That time in that place. Her hate for it all spills out, all the secrets, lies, all laid bare, exposed like a wound that will never heal. It festers bubbles, tears. And she doesn’t want to justify it, rationalize it, feel sorry for it. She doesn’t want to put it into words. She doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve that look at her. 

She loved the man in front of her and he doesn’t understand. How could he ever? How could anyone understand the clarity that she has now? 

Her throat hurts, it's constricted with the need to cry, the need to get out of this situation. But she will not. She can not. She needs to finish what she started. 

Her next words are near a whisper. All the fight burned out of her, in the face of the sins and burdens she carries. “I watched them all die so that I could collect his wretched soul shards, so I could die over and over just to get slightly ahead, a small foothold. I have poisoned my magical core, I have sold my soul. There is little more I can sacrifice, little more that I can give.”

Don’t ask me to give up the memories we shared, don’t make me regret the happiness if felt with you. She begs him with her eyes. She can feel him staring into her core, past her eyes, and to her spirit. Tom has managed to get up and sit near her. She had not noticed how close he was hovering. She is tempted to laugh at the way he is hesitant to reach out but sits rigidly close letting her know that he is there. 

And she wonders if he understands that she would have gone to the past to save him if she could. That she cares deeply about him. He had always seemed so reluctant to accept any of her affection for him. Severus and Tom, are the few people that she has had in her new life since its started, things that brought clarity, made it matter. She takes a shuttered breath that expands her chest and cuts deep. 

“You don’t need to do anything else.” Tom says soothingly, though his voice has a hint of warning for Severus. “We only need the snake and then it's over. The world will not end, you get to retire if you want to. You owe them nothing else.” 

And she knows that isn’t true, she owes more than she can name. She lets Tom have his words, lets him try to be kind because she at least knows that he is being sincere about it. 

Severus buries his head in his hands and she wonders if he is thinking of that future that he had once seen in her eyes. She wonders if he can ever love her or if she has broken all that there ever was by just being herself. The sting is still there, but it is manageable. 

She will heal. She always does. 

“Is it really that simple?” Severus asks the very question that has been on Hermione’s mind since she had started down this road. “Finish it by ending him?” 

“It is the only solution that I have.” Hermione tears her eyes away from his. He looks so old to her now, so fragile. The years have been so unkind to him. She wants to hold him, tell him it is okay. Bit it’s not okay. It won’t ever be okay or the same and at the same time, she wants to hold him. She wants to run away from him. His justified anger at her hurts more than their separation. 

“And it’s good enough for me.” Tom interjects. “Even if it doesn’t stop doom’s day, it certainly will put off the war between Muggles and Wizards. We need to construct a new government that can actually deal with matters that are going to come up because of Muggle technology competently .” 

“That is all considering that we make it that far. If we kill the snake that leaves one very powerful Dark Lord that despite not having assurances will not be an easy person to kill.” Severus sighs deeply as if they are at a staff meeting. The tiredness and resigned tone is familiar to her, warming her heart to him again. 

“The fact that you have said we implies that you are going to help us, Severus.” Hermione calms slightly by this affirmation. 

“Yes, well, as messed up as this situation is, I still think that you are the best option that we have to defeat him. His reign of terror must come to an end, regardless if it is the trigger for armageddon.” He says drily and reasonably. Taking a long sip of his drink no doubt to clear the bad taste of this arrangement out of his mouth. 

Tom seems to relax with them all being on the same page. His wand is still in reach, but he is not gripping it so tight and she can feel the couch move to accommodate his more relaxed posture. 

“Can you be of use to stop this? You worked for him closely.” Tom tilts his head. “If anyone knows where the snake is likely to be it would be you.”

“There is another issue.” Severus said plainly. “That must be addressed before we consider the best methods to enact any sort of assassination attempt on the reptile.”

“The elder wand.” Hermione says in agreement. “The last Hollow I need to complete my set. It doesn’t like him practically does it?” 

“It does fight him.” Severus acknowledges. “But he can still bend to his will and while he has it, he is invincible in a duel.” 

Tom frowns deeply clearly disturbed by this twist of events. The poor boy was suffering quite a few shocks today. 

“Yes, but the first priority should be dealing with the snake. He will be more cautious should he lose it, or madder than ever. Both put us at the advantage. Part of me hopes he tries to rip his soul again. There is so little left doing it might solve the problem for us.” Hermione rests her head on her hand, putting her fingers to her lips in thought. 

“That the snake is more than a Horcrux. I looked at Hermione's memories, it's too intelligent to be a mere magical snake or familiar. I may be able to influence it, but I don’t know if I am enough to pull it away from him or how distracting that it really will be.” 

“And you would be able to pull it away how?” Severus raised an eyebrow.

“There is a reason that Hermione calls me Snake.” Tom taps his wand into his arm. Severus watches it and no doubt knows who’s wand it is that he is holding. “I can speak to them.” 

And of course Tom would test Severus with this. They could not wait till after the snake discussion. Tom just has to push at the man. 

Severus looks disturbed, very disturbed. “There are only 2 ways I can think of that would explain that ability. Both are not pleasant to think about, but since you are not completely human I can guess which one it is.” 

Now she was going to have to fix this. As Tom had that look on his face.

“For you, I am sure that picturing your boss having any sort of relations is an awful one. Trust me he would not have indulged in anything like that.” Tom’s tapping gets a little harder on his arm. “I am a part that is quite separate from him. Rest assured and I find his behavior repulsive.” 

Hermione is tempted to try and stop him from fidgeting, but she fears taking her eyes off of Severus. He has started to shake, his fists tightly clenched and he is seconds from throwing spells. This is the part that she had feared. She doesn't necessarily need Severus but he would be useful in getting Nagini. She can not brew the complex potions needed to kill her. She is not getting anywhere willingly close to her with the Gryffindor sword. She doesn’t trust herself to succeed in decapitating it. Tom and she had already discussed that trying to absorb a shard out of Nagini was not a great idea.

“It is the Horcrux from the diary.” Severus ignores Tom and is just hardly controlling the rage that she has only seen him explode with a few times. One of them when Sirius would not be getting the dementors kiss. 

“I am.” Tom admits calmly, but Hermione can tell that the idea still bothers him. 

“How could you be any more of a reckless Gryffindor. Your type and your bleeding hearts.” Severus is hardly a decibel lower than bellowing at her. She feels that your type is in reference to Lily. “You would have us trade one monster for another.”

Tom scowls deeply. “I am _Not_ Him.” 

“Says the soul shard.” Severus rounds on him. “Your other half or less made a wonderful career out of being a liar and grand manipulator. He has no emotions, no empathy, nothing but contempt and lust for power. There is no way of telling you are not the same or will not turn out that way.” He turns his attention back to her. “And you should have known better caution.” 

He is standing and his magic hits hers and the room is a show of magical cores. Tom springs up to meet him and she has a bad feeling this is going to come to spells. Hermione had promised herself to protect Tom and so she would stay good on it if she had to. She doesn’t draw her wand just stands up to be even enough to Severus in height and puts herself between the two of them. 

“Severus this is a lot to take in. I know that, but Tom is not Voldemort.”

“Funny I was under the impression that he was calling himself something similar in his school days.” Severus counters. 

“Tom is not Voldemort.” Hermione repeats. “Perhaps everyone should take a calming breath or drought. 

“I don’t wish to be him either.” Tom adds rather unhelpfully. 

“It’s still is a liability, just because you don’t wish to bring the world Voldemort’s type of madness doesn't mean that you will not bring about other destruction.” Snape snaps. “Well-meaning intentions can still get far away from you when you don’t have the ability to empathize and hold bigoted views.”

“Are you sure that you are not projecting onto me.” Tom hissed. His magic shattered the window. “I don’t for a second believe in any of this blood status shit. And if I did, do you really think that I would care at all about Hermione’s wishes or work with her?”

“I am sure that anyone is willing to put differences aside if they have enough spells on them or are desperate enough?” 

Severus is speaking from experience here and even if he is not screaming anymore and the magic in the air has died down a bit. She can tell he is still livid with her and the idea of having one of Voldemort's soul shards running around, nearly unchecked. Though she can not really see Tom as a fragment anymore. He has become more than that. He is a real person in many ways. She can’t think of the last time she didn’t see him as anything but alive. 

“Tom is many things. Godric do I know it.” She shakes her head. “Yes, there are checks currently and balances to help him on his path. But Guidance is something that a young Voldermort needed long ago. The boy, Tom Riddle, would not have become what he was if there had been those that cared enough to help him. Dumbledore failed both Harry Potter and Tom Riddle as their acting guardians. Even he perhaps could not keep him from wanting to push magic but could have changed the drive for something good. Helped him understand himself, and the irrelevance of blood. I have no doubt that my Snake will become a great wizard. It is his choice where to apply himself after this is all over. But I know that he will not be another Voldemort.”

“You can not know that.” Severus insists. 

“I can. Tom can feel remorse he has mended 2 soul shards that Voldemort split off of himself. That is not something that you can fake. No matter the pretty words given, there is good in Tom whether you will acknowledge it or not and I will not let you harm him.” 

The older man at least is smart enough not to attempt any spells. She doesn’t doubt that she can beat Severus in a duel. He would be a good opponent but she can not die. Tom blinks at her conviction. His face is some emotion that she has not seen before. She is not sure what it means. Adoration? And slight annoyance at the idea of her thinking she has to protect him. 

“What if he comes back through him.” Severus simmers. “Is that not what was feared with Potter? As long as one anchor exists, there is a chance.”

Tom stiffens. “I have a larger soul. I should be stronger than him.” 

Severus shoots him a look that screams confidence.

“Yes but that really doesn’t mean anything to a magically bloodthirsty parasite.” Severus glares at him. “Potter had his whole soul and we know what happened in the department of mysteries.”

“No.” Tom shifts his weight. “We don’t.” 

Severus looks at least interested in the reason that Hermione had not told so much of her life or what could be considered important information. He looked ready to use it as a weapon too. She would not have him upsetting Tom nor putting fear into him for when this was all over. 

“Tom. Severus and I need to talk this out before it reaches the point again of spells.” Hermione cuts in. 

“Whatever you are going to say to him, you should be able to tell me.” Tom’s angry burning eyes look towards her. “Unless…”

“Don’t start that train of thought.” She warns him. “You will not like where it leads. We talked about trust. Trust me to work this out or to put an end to it.” 

Tom looked between the two of them. He seemed to decide he did not like what he saw. “You will not hurt her or try anything.” He says bitterly. “Or I will give you the person that you want to imply I am.” 

“Tom.” 

“Hermione.” He matches her tone. “I am almost tempted to make him vow it.” 

“I will not harm Granger.” Severus states it as if it is something as simple as describing the weather. “Unless I need to defend myself.” 

“Which you won’t.” Hermione hurried on.

~/*\~

Tom doesn’t like it. He really doesn’t like it. But he does leave the room. Stopping right where Hox had situated itself. Smart little thing was close enough to hear all the things that were going on. He did not fail to note the small knife that the creature had in its hand. Flicking the blade in and out with a flick of the wrist.

“Hox does not like that man.” The elf breaks the silence in the hall. Tom can hear the creak of the furniture as he leans against the wall. 

“I don’t like him either.” Tom’s anger is not even close to subsiding. 

How dare that man consider him and it? A liability when he had been doing far more than the other ever could imagine to stop his other-self. While what was this Severus doing? Following orders like a good little soldier? He tightened his grip on the curved wand. His expression darkens even more as there is silence that fills the house with the conversation not to leave the room. 

Who was Severus to judge him? 

He knew nothing of what Tom had been through. He knew nothing about feelings if he thought that Tom didn’t have them. And Hermione was so quick to defend him. Her eyes flashing, and her magic soothing like a blanket. He can see it almost, the brightness of stars. She defended him again, despite him not needing it. Still, He doesn’t think there is a person alive that has ever put themselves in the way for him like that. Ready to sacrifice an alliance that could be useful to them, just for him. No one in his house would have ever done that, no wise person of war either. No, they would never be as compassionate either. They would have used him and discarded him. She got near nothing out of their arrangement besides company and a tool to get what she wanted. Yet, she believed in him and he didn't feel all that used... 

It sends an odd feeling through him a tight squeezing warmth to his chest. Still, there is a little anxiety that forms in his stomach. The thought that perhaps after every use and good that he had done. He would die at the end of this. Hermione had vowed that she would not kill him, not harm him. But Severus was an unknown variable and he might only be willing to help if Tom’s life was forfeit. Panic. He still fears Death more than anything. He did not want to die when he still had so much to experience and there is Death a being waiting for him on the other side. A frightening deal maker that even Hermione was scared of. 

He is still convinced they did not need the other, there were other ways to get information. Tom knew them well enough. Torture and he could read most minds given enough time to crack them. It's not exactly the nicest thing to do. It was something his other self would do. But even the ‘good’ side needed to do what was necessary to end the war. 

“Hox.” He looks down at the elf that was near him ear pressed to the door as if that would allow it to hear anything. “What do you know about Severus?”

“He is one of the most trusted Death Eaters, potion master, dedicated to be headmaster of Hogwarts, and Murder of Albus Dumbledore.” The elf answered, not bothering to look at him. “Hox’s masters would meet with him. Plan attacks and discuss orders.” 

“And Hermione trusts him why?” Tom lets out a deep breath. 

“I believe she told young Riddle that he was loyal to Dumbledore till the end following all his plans. Even the ones that were ill-formed.” 

“I know that.” Tom snips. “But she hates Dumbledore.” He had seen the way that Hermione’s face would darken at the mere mention. It's another thing that they share. Tom hates the old man only slightly less than his other-self. 

“Don’t get snappy with Hox.” The elf turns to him pointing one of those bone-thin fingers at him to wag it accusingly. “Hox knows only what Mistress tells him and if she didn’t tell Riddle it is not Hox's place to say.”

“But has she mentioned him at all favorably other than the use he could be?” Tom feels as if they are more familiar than once colleges would be or student and teacher. There is something there with the way that they look at each other. Something that he doesn’t like. “Other than that supposed support he took part in to help as a spy?”

“Oh listen. I have been called for more tea.” The elf smiles distastefully and pops away leaving him in the hall alone scowling at the place that it had been. 

Tom would have to get the answers later out of the elf. He was getting better at pressuring it without resorting to violence or empty threats. 

~/*\~

The tea has been warmed up and more brought. Its formality if anything. She looks at him with slightly colder eyes and his emotions are too mixed at the moment to even process everything. They sit in silence and he can hear that storm that had been threatening with the overcasts to the sky finally come barreling in. The house creaks and the shutters bang against the sides of the panes. It's the only noise. Besides the clock that stands out. She taps her nails against the teacup, just like she would do on the afternoons when they would grade near each other. He is not sure how to even talk with her without wanting to yell at her. She is nothing like he has thought, and yet there is an honesty to her eyes. A warmth that has always been there when looking at her students, when looking at innocent life, and she has chosen to extend it to a person that did not deserve it. 

Much like Lily…

He closes his eyes and takes another breath and then another. Willing that horrible feeling in his chest to die down. He doesn’t want it to poison this too. Even with how angry he is at her. How hurt… not that he will admit that. Not in a thousand years. There are few things that he ever wishes to show about himself anymore. He can not afford weaknesses.

“I am sorry.” She eventually speaks.

She has such a calm voice, she has grown up. No hint of the girl that used to travel quickly down corridors or would talk out of turn in his classes. There is still that boldness, but not the superiority of the girl that felt she was the best and proudest of her Muggle heritage. Gone is that hunched in way of sitting due to lack of self confidence or manners. She has grown up and he doesn’t know why that sends a horrible feeling into his gut. For what a girl had to go through to become the woman that he had met all those years ago in August the type that drank away miseries and talked of a war that she had lost many in. One that spoke in sadness as if she knew all her happiness could not last but extended all the grace and kindness she could. And forgave him. He remembers forgave him for a sin that he had apologized in honesty for when seeing that word that had been carved into soft flesh. A wound she would have gotten in this war, by Bella during her stay at the manor where Ronald Weasley died still cursing the Dark Lord and Severus himself. 

She had done horrible things, he remembers in clarity and he now knows that dirty list. Not all but certainly enough on it. A person that had made deals with Death, that knew how it all ended and still tried new ways to alter time itself to save them all. It was sacrifice and commitment that went beyond any folly and hope that he had ever heard from a Griffendor before her. 

It was one thing for Lily to believe that James Potter could become a wonderful man. 

It was another for Dumbledore that the light could win. 

Another thing entirely to want to bring back the Dark Lord from a Diary and change him for the better.

That sort of wishful thinking was the type to get one killed or worse. 

“I wish I could say that I forgive you.” He says after a very long pause. “But I am not ready to.” 

And that is the best truth that he can offer her. He knows why she kept this from him. He can understand her twisted logic to the things she is saying, and the undertone of her madness. It lays deep in his heart that he sometimes forgets that he has. That raw wounded feeling that only came from someone that you loved and spilt and tore when they had wronged you. The want to hate them still and the want to forgive. \

But being lied to, knowing someone but not truly knowing them… it was hard to take in. 

She nods seeming to accept his words with grace that Narcissa would have shown to any bad news that she did not want to hear. 

“He can’t come back through Tom.” Hermione lets out a deep sigh. “I ensured it. I gave him his own soul. It's not something that is great for the magical core, but I wanted to give him the best chance he could. I didn’t want to use him the way that Dumbledore used Harry. Even if I did originally plan to use him to find the Horcruxes.” 

“What possessed you to think this was the best thing to do?” He still can not believe that was the only option. “Granger, he attacked our students.” 

She is taken back by that and he realized he had slipped up and added an our. 

“I tried nearly everything else.” Hermione smiled weakly. “I wasn’t supposed to end up caring about him. I know what Tom is and what Voldemort could have been now. It's incredibly sad the tale that led Tom Riddle to split his soul. Even sadder that he had no one to save him from himself. Everyone that could have loved him, taught him, was dead or abandoned him. I see Harry when I look at him.”

“Sentmenally…” He sighs deeply.

“Yes that and he is more like me than I would like.” Hermione chuckled darkly. “Too inquisitive for his own good and too outspoken. We both carry great pain, and I think that I can help him to heal from it.”

“He also has that quick to anger fight response when threatened.” Severus can agree to that one. 

She smiles at him and his heart does another one of those painful beats. “Yes for those he cares for. I did not expect him to care quite for me as much as he does. Though perhaps it is because I am the only person to treat him like a person.” 

“And is he really a person? Yes, he has an artificial soul and has mended some of Voldemort's back to himself….” 

“Don’t finish that thought.” Hermione warns him, her eyes darken. “He was treated like a freak all his life by muggles and by his own house. A Mudblood in 1940’s Hogwarts in Slytherin, I don’t want to imagine it. Even if he was able to prove himself a Halfblood, the torment would have been endless. He was trapped no matter which way you look at it. And Tom was pushed to make horrible angry decisions. It doesn’t make it right, just understandable. I solved the little issue that the Diary was causing. He is as human as he can be.”

“Meaning he can die.” Severus looks towards the closed door. 

She looks at him through tired eyes and sighs. “He will not age. I think that is a side effect of his own tampering with his soul. He can die, just not perhaps as easily as yourself or another completely human being. I have not tested it. I am not sure. And I will kill anyone that tries it.” 

“You would add to your body count for him.” Severus is trying to place just how much she seems to love the thing she had pierced together. 

“There are few people I care for.” Hermione sits up straighter. “If they were not part of this world, I would burn it if I was able to have my revenge. And before you try and talk me out of the warpath. I would ask for us not to be hypocritical.”

He grimaces.

She brings her hand to her face. “I do wish for you to help us, but I will not delusion myself into imagining that you trust me nor want to help.” Her eyes dull. “So let us please discuss what we wish to do to keep you safe and to end this war. He can try and hunt you down with his many resources. I know he can send burning to your arm and probably make it near unbearable. But what I don’t know is if he can trace you with it.” 

“He can not trace me.” Severus grabs at his arm feeling the magic of it. “Nor can he listen through it.” 

“Relieving.” She nods her head. “Then placing you in a home that is warded and protected with myself as the secret keeper should suffice. I can bind a house elf easy enough to be of service to you.”

“You would have me stuff myself away from the war.” Severus raises and eyebrow. He nearly laughs at the idea.

“You have been forced to fight for so long. Forced to spy for protection that failed the people you cared for. Pushed back into the surface as the Dark Lord rose again. You have been alone so long Severus. Given everything… If I can spare you…” She takes another breath. “If I can spare your life, I would do it.” 

“For sentimental reasons.” He says dryly for lack of anything better to say.”

“For sentimental reasons.” She echoes him with a delicate watery-eyed smile. 

~/*\~

Severus will not be stuffed somewhere and Hermione should have known that he wouldn’t just pack up and leave for the hills. It leaves them in a very awkward and tight predicament. There were two places that this mess could go down. One of the Malfoy Manors was still a hot spot for Death Eater activity and the other was Hogwarts. Both rolled Hermione’s stomach far too much for her liking. 

She hates that house. She hates it more than any place that she has ever been, but there is a good chance that Voldemort will be present with his little group. He would bring Nagini with him and Severus would be able to get them past the wards. Crashing the meeting meant fighting not only the better, strong, and useful members of the organization but being in close corridors with Voldemort. Which did not make for the best of odds. Getting tired before fighting Voldemort was just asking for something to go wrong and Hermione is not exactly what her chances were in dualing the madman. 

The other option she hates more. She doesn’t want to put children in danger. Even if they were the offspring of Death Eaters and some of them were falling onto the darker path. She can not bring herself to place blame on them for other sins and what they have been indoctrinated into over the past couple of years. Hogwarts was more defendable. She knows from experience and it is the location of what Voldemort assumes one of his last Horcruxes. They might be able to drag it out into the grounds and outside of them. So less people were hurt, but she can’t guarantee that Nagini will be there or be brought. That meant splitting up. One going to key locations alone to check where the snake may be. Meaning if someone got into trouble they were really on their own. She didn’t think taking students hostage would do much. Voldemort would claim it a necessary loss. Even if his followers would be outraged at him. 

So it boiled down to distracting Voldemort and hoping that Tom or Severus could get the snake or them all facing him together and his associates. 

She closes her tired eyes as they called it an evening. Severus taking a weekend absence from the school buying them time possibly of his discovery and giving her tired mind time to organize it all. Process everything. She feels like this year has been going by too fast. 

~/*\~

Tom catches their guest in the room they had converted into a potions lab. He is playing with a very particular feathered quill. 

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” He folds his arms leaning against the door. The man looks at him with those cold dead eyes that Tom can not help but feel annoyance at. “It's rather important to her.” 

“Is it?” There is something in his eyes then, emotions, that he can read without pushing into any thoughts. It's longing and almost fond.

“Yes.” Tom narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Did you give it to her?”

The man doesn’t respond right away. “A long time ago.” 

Tom frowns deeper. “She asked me not to kill you that day and used to hold onto that thing for hours at a time not even writing with it.” He watches the man’s face, stubble at the jaw with thin lines of age. He is not someone that he can see Hermione caring so deeply for. “Why does she care for you so much when all you have done is hurt her.” He twists the knife in. “It's my understanding that you joined the Death Eaters willingly even into the second war. Got her friend's parents killed, later helped to hunt down a few Order members that would have been her remaining family.” 

The man’s back goes rigid. “And what do you know of it?”

“Enough to know I despise you.” Tom tilts his head not threatened at all by the older Wizard. 

The old man shakes his head. “She was right about you. Still a child.” 

Tom bristled at this. “Is it childish to be upset for her? She has suffered and brushes it off as if it were nothing and she deserved it. She seems to almost like pain.” 

“Sometimes growing up, Riddle, involves accepting that there are many grays to situations. There is more to caring than just flipping a switch on and off." The man puts down the quill, that Tom has the sudden urge to snap. He has his back to him and if Tom wanted to he could have done something, what he isn't rash enough to act on any of the passing curses. "Though perhaps you are not mature enough for that yet. As much as I have done evil acts, I have done good as well. Hermione is much the same and for the hurt, I have caused her so too has she hurt me. Not all that get pushed into being Death Eaters are worthy of Death.” 

He speaks of a loss. Tom can tell that much but he doesn't care. Anyone that came after him and what he considered to matter to him, all deserved to suffer. He makes sure the old man leaves the potions room first as petty as it is. He will not be the one to turn tail and let it be known those words sunk in and had made him uncomfortable. Hermione is a lot closer to Severus than he ever thought...


	15. Whisperer of Secrets.

Chapter 15 - Whisperer of Secrets. 

Hermione finds that Severus is rather sour over breakfast. Not that he is really eating anything, just taking the coffee and staring across the table at her and then every so often Tom. It’s the sound of saucers on plates and the clinking of silverware. Tom is the only one eating, she has finished her bit of toast a bit ago. She had not been able to sleep and had been turning everything over in her mind. She brings the tea to her lips and takes a sip even if it is still far too warm. This doesn’t give her great confidence that they will get along well enough to come up with a solution in the needed near future. She closes her eyes as she takes in a deep sigh. She can see the chessboard in front of her. One wrong move and she will lose the rook that sits to her left, gripping his knife a little too tightly and her knight that is glaring at him from across the table. She is a queen and not helpless in the situation but she knows if she falls everything ends. 

‘There are worse things than death.’ Tom’s voice rings in her ears. 

And she has great fear for what someone like Voldemort could do so someone that could not die, should he get the opportunity to try and play with her. She fears the Madman getting her blood, what he could do with it. She has a fear that she is not strong enough to beat him, even with her improved dueling. She can’t bow down. This has been in the works too long. If she waits longer she just might allow for the end of the world. There really was no pressure there...

“We must come up with a conclusive plan today.” Hermione puts her drink down. “The longer we take the longer we are in danger of discovery and an increased chance he will know that the Horcrux is gone from the castle.”

Severus taps his thin fingers on the table. “We have to decide which of the two options to go with then.” 

“I have sat with it. I will confront him at Hogwarts.” She takes a deep breath in. “He will assume I will come for the diadem eventually and I will draw him from the school. That leaves the both of you to get the snake.” 

Her confidence must have an effect on Severus because he doesn’t call her out for being foolish or too Gryffindor. They also have exhausted most other options. 

“If it is on school grounds, I will be able to help with this task. I can even ensure that he is distracted by calling him and the others to help deal with you. Leaving the manor near unguarded should he not take the snake with him.” Severus sits up straighter in his seat. “That leaves…”

“Me to go after Nagini should she not be taken to the location.” Tom nods.”I will need a map of the place.”

“I will provide you with a memory of the layout.” Severus agrees. 

“Tom I will give you the sword, don’t use it unless it is a last resort.” Hermione feels her chest tighten at the thought of him getting close to the snake. She had fought it before and it had taken Harry’s wand from him. “Try Basilisk venom first.”

“The venom will have to be mixed into potion vials that can work as projectiles.” Tom puts his hand to his chin. “Enough of the stuff and the snake will dissolve.”

Along with anything that it got onto. She can see very easily the splatter causing damage to the flesh. She had been on the receiving end of that corrosive venom. She has no want for a repeat. She remains silent as a reminder to be careful when using it is just common sense. Tom had no doubt experimented with the stuff. 

“A few good hits and that will be all it takes.” Severus agrees. 

Hermione shuts her eyes again for a moment to clear her head of doubts. This was the best way. She trusts that Tom will be fine alone. She knows he is capable. She has to trust that he can get himself safely out. 

She leaves the table and starts work for preparation. Severus will not be able to be here that much longer without suspicion of why he has left the school unguarded. She makes them all coins as she did with the DA making it so that quick messages can be exchanged. Tom would get a message to leave to get the snake or to join them at Hogwarts. She would rather the snake comes to her than being left for only Tom to deal with. 

~/*\~

She stands there in a red robe that was lined with stitches that provided protection. Her hair tied back. She slips dragon gloves into her pocket and her wand holder. If she was going for visibility, she has truly achieved the feat. 

“Little Snake.” She motions him closer. “Take this and use it, well.” 

She has a familiar cloak folded neatly in her hands. He knows that this is one of her most prized positions. An artifact that was gifted from her long-departed friend and a relic from the being of death himself. 

“Will you not need it?” 

He reluctantly takes it from her when she all but shoves it into his waiting arms. The fabric feels cool to the touch and is softer than he remembered it. It wouldn’t save him from a snake's sense of smell but it would hide him from members of the house he did not want to run into. Perhaps he would just eliminate them all. Less backup that could be sent. He tightens his hold on the fabric. 

“You will need it more. My goal is to be seen, remember.” Her voice is soft and he has a very awful feeling like she is saying goodbye to him. “Yours will involve quite a bit more stealth.” 

“Don’t act like you are not coming back.” He hisses at her. “Your goal is to be a distraction so that I or Severus can kill Nagini.”

She smiles kindly at him, disarmingly bright. “I am glad you care about me, Tom.” 

She doesn’t dare to tell him not to worry. They both know what they are getting themselves into. She fixes his hair for him and he leans into that touch because even if she does this because she sees him as a child and it is slightly demeaning he knows it is one of the few ways that she shows him physical affection. “Be careful.” 

He grabs her wrist before she can turn from him to finish getting herself ready. “Don’t put yourself at unneeded risk.” 

He reminds her of what they talked about all those weeks ago when she couldn’t even hold up her teacups. He doesn’t want to imagine Voldemort with that ability to time travel nor think of the pain that Hermione would endure as his other self took the time to figure out how to permanently kill her. He might delight in it after all the Horcruxes that she had destroyed. Severus was not worth that no matter the weird looks the two gave each other. 

“I will.” She doesn't pull away from him. “That goes for you as well. We need the snake but do not risk being captured for it. Even if you are part of him. I doubt that he will take kindly to the actions you have taken for me.” 

He shifts his hold to her hand feeling the softness of her palms and the small scar at the ring finger. He has that fear as well. But he won’t show it, nor allow himself to spare a thought of failure. He can’t afford it so he must succeed. Everything hinges on the last of the anchors being destroyed. 

“When this is over have you decided what you want to do?” She pulls away from him and they stand awkwardly in front of each other. 

“Yes.” He straightens up and she has to look up at him. 

“And what is it that you wish to do?” She brings her hand up to grip at the locket that dangles at her neck. The one that he has come to like because it matches his. 

“I will help you build a better world. It doesn’t truly end with him. His followers will not just scatter. You will need someone that is capable to help you finish the rest of them.” Tom answers honestly. He doesn’t know what else he could do or would provide him with power and security. He doesn’t want to be alone again. The idea of being alone in his own head, the diary, or just because he is out in the world is not a welcome one. 

He clears his throat when he sees her face going to that mask. He wonders what he has said that was so wrong that she will not allow for herself to comment on that. “Also, I am your apprentice. I still have a lot to learn.”

He folded his arms protectively to keep himself from fidgeting under her gaze. Then she laughed softly. It's not bitter, not quite happy. It’s definitely fond though. And he feels that odd feeling again. 

“I look forward to you sticking around then.” 

His chest tightens even though it should be a good thing that she wants him to be around. It was better than her telling him to pick something else. He can hear the muffled bits of her asking Severus to be safe as well. 

~/*\~

Severus enters his office, with full intent to set everything up for Hermione’s grand entrance. Albus is watching from his frame the frantic movements. He doesn’t have much time and he is sure that the other Death Eaters will want to check in with him. Probably are wondering what was so important that Severus of all people took a day to himself. He doesn’t think that he has had any days off since he had taken up this position. He is always working on something, forcing his mind elsewhere. 

“Has he finally decided to kill you?” 

The blue eyes dare to look sad at him. Severus is so tired of its imagined pity. It was not in that man to truly feel sorry for what he had done. If he was capable of true empathy he never would have done the things he had in the name of the greater good. 

“No.” Severus answers bitterly. “Not yet, but he will want to soon enough.”

“Have you taken a stand against him, at last?” Albus looks excited by the prospect. “Is it the Order?” 

He glares at the man as he moves to different frames to keep up with Severus’s movements. “No, Granger.” 

Albus blinks. “And you are helping her. I am quite pleased to see your change of heart. Nothing is as hopeless as it seems. I knew that the 3 of them working together would be able to...” 

Severus knocks the current portrait off the wall that the old man is in. “You are responsible for the death of hope or don’t you remember? All of them except for Granger are dead and your little secret mission would have died with them.” 

Albus has managed to flee to a different canvas. “It had to be done. I had been hopeful that Harry would get all 3 hallows and survive the killing curse. But it seems that he fell short one. Voldemort was never meant to get my wand.” 

Severus rounds on him. “Your secret-keeping has cost thousands of lives. Your chess games have turned a normal girl that had dreams of becoming a Hogwarts professor or an ambassador in the ministry to a shade of herself.”

“Severus…” 

“No, don't start with me.” He hisses. “It is because of your messes that we find ourselves in this predicament. Hermione has forced herself into the role of the next savior. I already see her plans to build a new world with herself as a sacrifice at the end of its groundwork. Who she leaves to pick up the small pieces is still debatable. But I know enough to see a martyr when I see it.” 

“I didn’t think you cared for the girl.” Dumbledore says plainly. 

“I am not as heartless as you believe me to be.” He insists. 

Perhaps he is not as heartless as he wants to be. He has not hardened it enough, stuck in his own need to help his students, the children that never asked for this future. Perhaps he is still foolish to have hope in a person that has killed nearing the numbers of the Dark Lord in the first war is the person that can bring about a new age. 

He can still see the fire in her eyes when she had admitted there was few things that have kept her from burning the world. Perhaps in a way, they deserved it. 

There is a small burning that starts and he quickly silences the portrait. The Dark Lord strides into the office with ease. Severus never would allow the wards to block him. He had to make it seem as if he had nothing to hide. The red eyes trail the office before they lock with his dark ones. Severus bows deeply. 

“I was not expecting you, my Lord.” 

Voldemort glances towards the old man’s portrait and a small hardly noticeable smile finds its way onto the snake-like face. He finds it rather amusing that Albus is still on the wall but silenced. Severus is sure that his “Lord” is imagining all sorts of things the old man has had to hear, endure, and the betrayal it must feel. Not as great as tormenting a real person, but close enough. Had Severus let the former headmaster talk, he doubts that his ‘Master’ would have been in such a good mood. Albus would have had plenty to say to his former student. Things that Hermione insists could have saved a young Tom Riddle if the guidance was given earlier. And having met the child, Severus reluctantly can agree that perhaps something could have been done. Still, some of the mannerisms are present in the older version, especially, those cold reflective eyes. They have just changed color. 

“I was in the area and curious about the results of your experiments.” The wicked man hasn’t brought the snake, but he has brought the hallow. He is playing with it, turning it over in his hands. The most powerful wand to ever be and Dumbledore had practically allowed for it to be handed off. 

“I have made some progress.” Severus can not lie to him. “If you wish, I can take you to my private lab. Some things are better observed.” 

“Lead.” The command is obvious and Severus does so with another bow. If he is lucky and he rarely is, the Dark Lord has not checked on his Horcrux that had been in the room of requirements. He can stall, he brushes against the coin in his pocket and lets it be known there is no snake. 

It's not according to plan. It's already at risk of falling apart. Panicking will do nothing, so he swallows softly and enters the dance and role that he is so used to. 

“I devised from studying the blood that it is highly responsive to magic. It almost has a signature that is completely its own, unique. I haven’t seen anything like it.” Severus opened the door to the lab. The small vail is on the counter and the golden sands are present but only a few seconds worth. He has hidden the rest. The worst case is the Dark Lord gets 10 seconds to rewind each time he tips the vile. “I was able to isolate some of the sources to the reactivity.” 

Voldemort's corpse-like fingers wrap themselves around the small vial and hold it up to the light. “Promising.” His lips part to expose the sharp unnaturalness of them. “ I can feel the light magic.”

Severus wonders if it feels warm to him too, like a fluttering heartbeat of a small bird. Or if it just feels like potential power that has not been put to use yet. 

“This part is better observed.” Severus nods. “Tip the glass slightly.” 

And Voldemort only hesitates only a moment proving that Severus has earned some trust or quite simply he has no concern of what Severus could do to him. Voldemort had always held himself in high esteem, overestimated himself, but always had an air of calculation caution. Ever since he had been defeated once by a small boy that no longer lived, he hasn’t taken any unnecessary risks. 

Time shifts and Severus is not sure how many times the vile tips as it always feels like the first. 

“Time Magic.” Voldemort seems very pleased. “So that is our little Nymphs trick.” 

“Her blood seems to be infused with it.” Severus agrees with him. “Not much can be taken out of the blood and condensed even with the large amount that you were benevolent enough to gift me to work with.” 

He is sickened with himself for giving this monster such knowledge. It might be enough to keep Hermione alive should things go really wrong. If the Dark Lord thought he could have a use for her, even though Tom Riddle showed great concern over this, Severus at least bought them something to bargain with for more time.

“Still, this is a good amount for such a sample.” The man looks thoughtful. The bone fingers tap themselves against his chin. The thin veins that are visible under the surface pop out with each movement. 

He looks slightly sickly now that Severus is looking at him up close. His skin more of a dusty gray, thinning limbs, and deepening of the pit around the sockets. For a person, if one could consider him that anymore; Voldemort looked closer to death than anyone he had ever seen on their sick bed. Truly a walking corpse fueled by hate, greed, and mal intent. 

“If we were to acquire more.” The creature says more to himself than Severus. “Would I be able to travel further back?” 

Severus knowing this already just nods. 

~/*\~

Hermione waits at the outer wards and takes a deep breath. Bringing all her magic to a focal point. She points her wand at the magical barrier. And pushes it with full intent to break it. She closes her eyes knowing there is no going back. The sky darkens, the air rushes forward in a force that can rupture eardrums. And still, she presses, feeling her wand tremble from the core to do as she willed it, what she wanted to make happen. The barrier shimmers, with what looks like frost climbing from the outside in and starts to crack. It's loud, shaking the grounds, and she feels her wand bow by the pressure. The array shattered and she stepped onto the grounds throwing her hood down. 

“I know you are here Tom Riddle and that your pathetic soul shard is hidden in the bowels of this castle. I will take it apart brick by miserable brick if I need to. So let's not be cowardly and hide within the walls behind your students and followers. ” Her magnified voice echoes around the courtyard. “What was it you told Harry? Oh yes. You have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die. One by one. I do not want this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a waste. But I will kill every man, woman, and child that tries to conceal you from me.”

And the world is silent in response. She waits head held high for them to come. Students and Death Eaters alike. She doubts that he will face her until he is sure she is close to getting for what it is that he assumes that she is there for. That shard is long gone, the diadem inside it, was just that a diadem now. No traces of dark magic and hidden in her robe. 

She watches the black smoke of Death Eaters moving in to fight her, nameless, faceless people. That she is going to kill or maim. 

“So you are Voldemort's champions?” She laughs to herself. “And to think he once scuffed at sending children to do adults jobs.” 

~/*\~

Tom feels the coin burn in his hand and knows what he must do. He slips through the wards like he has been instructed. He has memorized the map and it is burned into his memory along with Severus’s little warnings of traps in place and the members of Death Eaters that he may come into contact with. There is one that he almost wants to meet though. The one that is named Bella. The one that has carved into Hermione's arm. He would find nothing more satisfying than killing her with her own wand.

The house stinks of death, dark magic, and depression. Once this place had been great. He had been to Abraxas’s house on a few occasions. Networking and furthering his influences. He had followers even then that were interested in the things that he had to say, what he dreamed to make happen. Bring them back to the days of not only high society, but power, and place those that were not privileged with good blood in their veins in their proper positions. Now, these dreams of grandness and power reflect themselves in the silence of this house. The hollowness of the few people he has fought before faces. There is nothing but gold that twinkles here and silver of trinkets. They are finely crafted into shackles. Choosing Voldemort was choosing the end of the world or one that just had the feeling of life buried deep under the surface. It was choosing to live inside a 6 room apartment and listening to trains rumble but never getting to go anywhere. Never getting to truly breathe as there was always the constant threat of death hanging over it all. And Tom knows that is no better life than being trapped at Wools or in the dark of a bomb shelter. No better than the confines of a book that could have been his eternity. For even if these people had power, wealth, and everything they seemed to want for. They were missing one very important thing: freedom. 

Tom was willing to do what he needed to earn his. A snake and a Dark Lord in exchange for the chance to live freely and explore the vast world. It was a bargain he would gladly make. It would be even better if his new eternity out of a book had someone he could spend it with. 

~/*\~

Severus follows the Dark Lord as he flies up the staircases towards a room that is there, but not there. He can’t slip off. The madman would not have allowed it. He had all but pinned him there with those red burning eyes. He is a cornered animal and shows it by the way he looks around his clever traps and enchantments. Granger has broken some of the lines and there is no longer anything that sits upon the table in the center. 

“How?” The man hisses words near coming out in parseltongue. He destroys the room, objects burning and things turned over. Splintered wood and shattered windows to the room. The fine powders leftover fall like snowflakes. He rounds on Severus that feels the waves crash against his shields, pressure on his head that feels like it's threatening to crush his skull. It is worse than any spell and he only lets memories that he can afford a slip. 

The monster pulls away from him and curses him and Severus falls to the ground holding back screams to find it lifted. 

“How?” Voldemort repeats. 

“The boy.” Severus croaks out once he has the ability to. “That day at the bank she had a boy with her. Her apprentice.” 

He lets the other draw the conclusions he needs to. Hermione is the distraction and the real thief snuck in unbothered and stole the prize right out from under his nonexistent nose. He lets out a cry of rage that shakes the ancient roof. 

~/*\~

He wipes the blood off his sleeve. The people he passed he could perhaps have left alone, but there was always the chance that they would come to the Snakes rescue and he would rather not have to deal with them later. 

He can feel the soul shard even in this place. He holds the cloak close, listening to the creeks of the floor as he moves. The rooms are endless and there is the sound of screaming below him. The sound doesn’t disturb him as much as it used to. The bank had taken care of that, Tom killed so many. He watched a few be burned alive and some be impaled by Hermione’s spells. And he never thought much of it. It didn’t keep him up at night. He would continue to do so if he had to. The blood that lines his hands is different from Voldemorts, but in the end, it's just blood. His remorse stems from destroying this world and for turning himself into something mindless. It branches to wanting Hermione to appreciate him and to prove himself not to be quite that type of demon. 

He can’t take the soul shard out of the snake. It is too dangerous. He knows there is something off about her from the memories that he has seen. He is better off trying to destroy her. His wand is at the ready to try and immobilize it. 

He is getting closer. 

There is that cold feeling, he always gets in the presence of his soul pieces. He can hear it now, the movement of scales against stone the low hiss of the other being. The other Horcrux, but this one it feels different. He can’t describe it, but there is a wholeness to this shard that the others did not have. An underlying warmth of life. He wonders if animals carried souls. 

He has brought dead rabbits in an attempt to distract the snake. And he knows that she can smell them and him. 

_Come._ The voice echoes around the small room that the snake is. The voice is soft and easy on the ears. She has a nice voice, clear, unlike the other snakes that he is used to hearing. Not even the king of all snakes speaks this clear and like a human. _Don’t be so shy._

He turns the handle and can see the yellow that glows in the dim lighting, the snake's large coils wrapped around themselves as it lifts itself. Those eyes are not animal-like, they hold something else, a glitter to the gold that is cold, predatory, and calculating. He takes the hood down as it will not do him any good if it’s that easy for the eyes to look at where he is. 

_You smell like him. And have brought gifts to appease me._ The tongue flicked in and out of the large heads parted lips. He can tell that it is being cautious. Watching the wand, close enough to be in striking distance. She knows what wands can do, she is immune to most spells, but Tom knows that there are things that can hurt it. Things that she has been told to avoid and she will try to. 

_Yes. I have brought gifts._ Tom reaches towards the pocket and drops the rabbits to the floor. The snake watches them fall and her tongue flicks in and out again. It looks almost pleased. 

_A speaker._ Nagini tilts her head. _I suspected. There are so few of you._ She moves closer to him. Her large body twisting. She has to look up at him but he knows that there is power to her that he doesn’t have. His body is fragile, hers is nearly indestructible. _Tell me, speaker, why it is you have come?”_

Her voice lowers to be as if she is holding back from attacking him. It's laced with mistrust. He can almost feel her whispers in his head. 

_To meet with you._ Tom answers honestly. _I have seen memories of you and know that you are not just a normal snake nor familiar._

The snake seems to laugh at him the hisses anything but pleasant on the ears. _, Of course, you would pick up on it, He picked up on it too._

It goes without saying that she means Voldemort, but she sounds almost fond of the madman. She moves a little away from him again, body swaying. Eyes shifting to the food near her. If she were to take it, her jaw would be busy and Tom would make his move. 

_You speak too clearly to be just a snake. Are you an animagus?_ He asks her. He had not suspected it till this moment but it could be possible. It would explain the powerful soul she carries and the abnormal speaking pattern.

 _Do you think I would choose to spend all my time in this limiting form if I had a choice?_

The anger hits strong and fast. The strike is lighting and he hardly is able to make it out of the way. The snake recoils back into a large wriggling ball. Her yellow eyes have slivers to her pupils. 

He could say is it truly that awful? At least in her form, she can move, she is alive. But he knows what it is like to be trapped in a diary. He can understand being trapped in a form that was not his own. The limited abilities and near maddening isolation.

 _I know what it’s like to be trapped._ He answers instead. 

_Do you?_

The animalistic sway exposes old scales and the curved plates and roundness of the ribs indents. She does not believe him and he doesn’t blame her. She lunges at him again and he puts up a shield that she slams into. Hissing angrily as she slides away. She is like him in a way and he goes for it. If he could willingly take it out… he would not have to kill her. Such a waste would it be. A familiar like this would not come around again, nor a creature. 

_You are like me._ He tries and she tilts her large head. _A horcrux._

Nagini stops her attack and seems to smile. _You are a host for the soul as well._ She looks very interested like what she has been poking at has actually become something worth the effort. _A brother of mine then, not his child._

She circles his barrier that he knows she could shatter with enough lunges. She pokes at it with her snout. _Come to do what exactly?_

Her body sweeps over the rabbits her long body posing itself again with the question that she is perhaps asking him as well as herself should he not answer. _To Gain an introduction?_

_No._ He hisses back. _I want nothing to do with him._

_But why? Is he not part of yourself?_

_Are you not part of me?_ Tom asks turning it back to her. _It doesn’t necessarily mean that we will get along._

 _Oh I see._ The snakes lips part to show fangs waiting. _You have come to collect me or destroy me._

There is another harsh strike against the barrier, it shimmers and the fangs almost poke through, yellow drips on the outside of his shield. She knows of course about their mission. Tom wonders just how much Voldemort shared with her as there was no one else that could understand them.

_I don’t wish to destroy you. I only wish to understand. Why is it that you serve him when he treats you no better than a pet?_

_And how would it be that you treat me?_ The snake hisses lowly, warningly. 

_Better than he treated me._ Tom narrows his eyes. 

_Choose your next words carefully little prey. My companion has treated me well and I have given in kind._

_He left me in a diary for 50 years. He treated me well at the start, writing to me, conversing, giving me copies of texts to read over. One day he just stopped. I had out wayed my usefulness to him and was discarded. Another container for a fragment of his soul._ Tom watches the snake's eyes. _you will be the same. He doesn’t keep his word, nor his promises. He will use you, for now, keep you satisfied, but you and I are his last protections, anchors, to this world. And if you don’t think that he will put you away somewhere he deems safe, like he did me, and leave you there you are lying to yourself._

The snake moves a bit away from him.

 _And what do you offer?_ Nagini’s voice is as easy to understand as before but not what hid behind her words. The intent was hidden like her fangs. 

_An out._ Tom watches her carefully wand at the ready. The space between them makes it easier. He can beat her. 

_You think I want to leave him?_ That hissed laughter. The eyes shining brightly. _If you and I are anchors then I must stay and so must you._

_I see that we will not see eye to eye._

Tom makes the first move thrusting the shield forward and into the snake. Nagini thrashes coils and lunges forward with tremendous speed. Bouncing back as Tom throws her with his magic back away from himself. He sidesteps her and she slams into the wardrobe. Hisses loudly and twists herself back and knocks into him. He hits her with a stinging spell in the face and she shakes it off. Tightening herself down onto him. He reaches for the vase and smashes into the side of her head before those fangs can pierce him. He kicks loose and wrestles free. 

Panting and going for the vials on his waste. He tosses one and Nagini slithers to the side and it smashes into the wood near her, eating through the floorboards and splashing her back tail. She gives a shriek of rage the noise not even translatable to anything in human language. 

~/*\~

His robe billows out around him as he appears in front of her. Hermione smiles at him even in her fear. The hairs start to rise on her arms and she has an awful chill. He stands there, a hollow corpse of the boy she has come to care for. The skin looks brittle. She hits the last of his teachers with a cruito and leaves them there. 

“Finally decided to stop hiding did you?” She brushes her hair out of her face. She is tired, she would not want to admit it, but she is feeling it. She stands strong as always. 

“You certainly have gone out of your way to get my attention.” The red eyes burn into her, she follows his gaze to the locket that is around her neck. “Now that you have it can you actually handle it?” 

The curses come in rapid succession, fast, hard, unblockable, she can only reflect one and try to dodge the others. He has not even moved. She grits her teeth. It was time to get creative and try to go on the offensive. She could not win the defensive. She apparates to the side in quick succession throwing spells at him, appearing at random locations of the courtyard. 

One of his spells slices into her side, but her cutting curse made its mark. He lets out a horrible gasp as blood trickles down from his right shoulder. 

~/*\~

 _One chosen like me. Why do you wish to destroy me? Go against yourself?_

_Because he is a rabid dog. One that has taken my name and turned it into something disgusting._ Tom throws another curse at the snake. 

The viper hissed slowly avoiding the spot on the floor that would burn her and the shards. 

_I know full well what he is. I helped to bring him back. I gave my venom, myself willingly to be a vessel for the soul. It warms me._ True adoration is in her voice dare he think it, love. Love for a monster that no other creature could ever love, but a cold-hearted serpent. 

_Why would you ever want to join someone like him, be loyal to him when he can not possibly love you?_ He just can not understand the love that she feels for such a person. He just manages to avoid her next strike and next and next. He nearly falls on her large mass. They move again to opposite ends of the room to get barings. 

_He is the truest form of humanity. All Humans are evil, vindictive, and more animalistic than they want to admit._ Nagini nearly purred. _You kill, you destroy each other. At least he does not lie. He does not pretend to be virtuous._

She hates humans. He can feel the saturation of venom to those words. He can feel her rage. The coldness in his chest by being near a shard. Such pain… So much loss. 

He throws another vial and it misses her completely as she twists out of the way. She launches at him and gets him on the leg, her fangs going in deep and he hits her repeatedly until there is a small cracking-like sound and she releases slinking away from him. 

The venom is fast-acting. He can feel the throb from the bite. He stumbles and grip tightening on his wand. Throwing another one of the potions at her and she is hit in the center of her mass. She burns badly but still is there curling on herself just like him too injured to do much more than sink to the floor. His head hitting the wood and feeling the coolness to it. 

Nagini flattens out after her screeching stops. Glass sticking from her body and blood leaking out in black blobs. He feels light-headed. The burning of the bite is nothing in comparison to the throbbing in his head and the difficulty he has taking each breath. He has his own pool of blood forming under him. He can feel that slick horrible texture. 

_I didn’t have to kill you. I just wanted to take my soul back. I want my humanity._ His head hits the floor again as he can’t keep it up. He is going to die to the venom in his veins strangling him or the deep wound’s inability to clot. 

He wondered which would be first. It's almost funny in a twisted way. He wanted to be free of the ink prison and he would end up back there. He fights to keep his eyes open and on the animal that is twitching near him moving to get closer to finish the job if necessary. 

_What good is humanity?_ She answers him a minute later, just as pained as him. Fearful he can tell of what will happen next. _His goals fit my own, suited me. I used him as much as he used me. It is fitting that I will die for him as well._

Her large head turns to him. Her tongue slowly, very slowly flicking in and out. 

_I can take my soul out of you without harming you and we can part ways._

She laughs with him on that one. Wishful thinking, considering that he feels like he is going to lose consciousness. It looked like the great Nagini would get her wish they both would die here together. The two anchors would be found by Voldemort when he came back. He would be mortal. 

Would he care at all about the viper or only about the shard that her corpse no longer harbored. 

And what if he did die and he did not go back into the dairy what happened to him then? 

What if Hermione lied to him…

He tried to pull himself up managing to tighten his hold on his wand if nothing else. He would not die here. 

_You are idealistic, so confident, determined, you remind me of him._ Nagini’s words are slowed down. _Hear me now human. Hear my last testament. I was once one of you, cursed by your kind, to transform into the beast you see before you. I fell in love with a boy and he broke me away from my abusive captors. I would have done anything for him. I changed my last time to save him and could not change back. Dumbledore was his downfall, his own flesh and blood left him to die._ Her pretty voice grows heavy, raspy more like a real snake. _I wanted revenge. Tom promised me that. He did what I asked and though he could not break my blood curse I was content with destroying those that look down on me, on him. He and I were alone so long, abandoned, forgotten, left to rot. And even if he could not love me. When we both were in need he did not leave me to suffer alone._

 _I don’t want to die._ He hisses to her. He can see darkness sweeping in around them. He is so tired, that resting seems like the easiest thing to do. 

_You said that to me the last time._ Her head is close to his now and she must not see him as the enemy in her current state of mind. He touches her with his fingertips. He can feel the shard still in there, clinging on. 

He wants it back. He tugs on it with what little he has left. He wants a full soul. To die without one… Was a fate worse than death for cheating such an entity? 

_I can’t feel the warmth inside me anymore._ Her glittering eyes look like they want to cry and Tom knows she can’t, she didn’t even have the eyelids to blink those unshed tears from her eyes in order for them to roll down her chin. 

__~/*\~_ _

__The grounds are leveled from their battle. Blood litters the ground and the once-great fountains and rocks at the edge of the grounds have been reduced to piles of small stones. Her hair is making it hard to see and so is the blood leaking from her head. Voldemort is bleeding as well, but not nearly as much as she is. She has scratched him twice and he still stands the elder wand loosely held in his thin fingers._ _

__She has pushed them near the boundaries of the woods and she coughs. The cold air burns her lungs as she sucks in deep breaths that shake her whole body. She can’t beat him like this and so she runs._ _

__“Asterope, you truly are a nymph of legends.” Voldemort’s laugh rumbles form deep in his chest. “Running away from me.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The coding for this chapter near drove me mad. I swear that trying to make snake talk is awful. I missed one / and placed a period and that was the end of the work lol. But here we are nearing the conclusion and one I am very happy to write.


	16. Metanoia

The forbidden forest stretches out in front of her. Light snow decorates the ground. The twisted trees point to a darkened sky that threatens more snow. The February chill climbs up her arms and pierce through her tattered cloak. 

She runs. 

She throws herself over fallen trees and avoids the thick roots of the ancient trees. She ducks down to avoid the thick brush that scratched up against her. The cold burns her lungs. Her side has healed but the deep gash site was uncomfortable. It’s like having a very bad side stitch. Yet, she needs to keep moving. She will be dead if she even stands still for a moment and she can not afford to be dead for even a few seconds. 

Voldemort would be too close then for a chance at escape. 

She runs with the vapers of cold trailing out of her mouth and the frost forming on her lashes. Her blood is freezing to her face. The wounds are knitting themselves as he has not tried that curse from before. She leaves an easy trail for him to follow. He moves slower behind her but keeps pace. He clears the path with magic that she can not afford to waste time with. The woods are surrounded by new barriers that are woven with intent. Traps set under the snow to stop those from wandering far into them or students from escaping. The wards will keep her unless she can buy time to push through them or she would have to go over them. There is nothing high above her but the dense tree branches. 

The woods are silent. She can not count on her relations with the spiders to be of any use, they are all underground at this point hiding in the winding paths of caves. The centers would never dream of fighting Voldemort even if he was an invading force into their lands. 

She is alone. 

This is not good at all. 

Curse fire is starting to spread to form yet another impassable barrier. She is going to be trapped sooner than later it looks like. 

She doesn’t know if Tom needs more time because her coin is cold in her breast pocket. She has no idea what Severus is up to. Where was he?

She takes a short breather by the frozen lakeside. She is gasping and she can not run much further. Her favorite tree stands tall with its branches heavy with snow. If there was ever a place to give it to her all it was here. The wind picks up the loose snow and tosses it in near blinding drifts. 

Voldemort tilts his head at the open space around them. His black robes glistened with the light snow. “And this is the part where you have nowhere left to run.” 

She knows the tale. She will not return to the earth from where she came. She will not die because of another's obsession. 

“This is where I make my final stand.” She agrees with him. 

“Tell me Asterope how many of my Horcruxes have you actually destroyed?” He stands patiently waiting for their next round of spells. It's almost like they are having tea, she can see that childlike want to understand that she can see in Tom. They never grew out of wanting to understand the complex puzzles. Never grew out of thinking they were more intelligent and cunning than they actually were. 

“A ring, a diary, a locket, a cup.” She smiles slightly at his blank face. “Need I name more? You were not as clever as you thought when picking objects.” 

The killing curse misses her by inches. Her hair singes and her eyes widen by it. She doesn’t like that spell, there are a limited amount of times she can resist it. 

“You know that will not work on me.” She recovers. She will not show fear to him, even if her heart and mind are racing. She is on her last stand. He knows it. She is not as skilled as she wishes to be in battle. No matter the times that she faces off against his followers. 

“No, you would just time travel I assume out of the path.” Voldemort tilts his head like a curious bird. “That is how you heal right, going back to where there was no injury?” 

She laughs. “Not quite, I wish I could say I admire you for figuring it out, but you have always been decently smart.” 

He stares at her with those eyes that she had seen in Harry’s memories. The ones that were directed at Dumbledore, the one person that would never acknowledge him and his deeds. Everything this man has done is childish, lacking real conviction, or true planning. He wants to be the greatest Wizard there ever was but can not comprehend what that would actually entitle. 

“Flattering.” 

“Honest.” She corrects. 

His smile slips slightly at that. “Care to tell me why you would consider me to be so foolish? I have achieved all I have set out to do. I have unified the wizarding world and pushed the boundaries of magic.”

“And that is why I find you thoughtless.” Hermione shakes her head. “You never believed in this blood purity thing. You are a half-blood, one that should have reason to hate purebloods more than anything for what they have done to people they deemed less. Yet you chose them as a stepping stone to power. And when you got what you wished, what did you do with it?” She gestures around herself with her wand. 

The flames between them dance finally causing a circle of green-blue flames that will not be passed through easily. It was the burning of an ancient wood, a place where magic of all kinds even the twisted languished in the soil. He would destroy one of the few magical places on earth, home to diverse plants and animals for the short-sighted goal of killing her. One person that he could have caught should he have planned properly to draw her out. 

“All you managed to accomplish is destruction and weakening the bonds of magic. Your actions have slaughtered one-third of us. I find you not only foolish but a disappointment, so much talent, skill, and drive wasted on poorly planned ambitions of immortality.” 

There is silence for a moment, the only sound the hissing and popping of the flames. The cracking of old dead trees. He stands there the black splotch on a white field and she stands opposed to him the red blood to the snow. The next spells are expected. They are fast and she dodges them letting them slice deep into the many trees. Voldemort doesn't attempt to dodge them, he just slices them smaller and pushes them out of his way. He is trying to cut her in half or at the head. She has never lost her head. She doesn’t know how that would feel or how she would heal that damage. Come to think of it she has never lost a limb. 

His anger might make his spells stronger but they are sloppy and she can see this as her opening. 

“Do you not find your own actions to be Ironic? You wanted to live forever and yet you picked the warpath. You wanted to rule the wizarding world to protect it but have left it more broken than ever before. You wanted adoration for your accomplishments and have only inspired fear. You wanted to stop your own downfall and went for a baby and were forced to be less than a spirit for 13 years.” She dodged another spell and it cuts into her red cloak but nothing but the fabric is hit. 

“You Voldemort are a walking contradiction and it makes it incredibly sad that you can not see it.” 

~/*\~

Severus has purposely misled some of his students and the Death Eaters that served as a backup that the Dark Lord wanted to handle Granger alone. Bella is watching from the entranceway for any change in that assumption. Always quick is she to fly to the one that she loves. Even if Voldemort would never look at her as anything but a little amusement or an annoyance. 

It doesn't take much to slip off after that. Hermione will need some assistance. He can see the way that she has fled to the back of the grounds and into the forests. The large older pines and oaks are set ablaze. The protective enchantments of old are being destroyed. The curse fire though has created quite the entrapment. He pushes through it by wrapping himself in his robe. Taking off quickly following the sound of falling trees and curses. 

He runs faster as the smell of blood is nearly overwhelming and the smell of char. The clearing near the lake is a battlefield of stray spells and blackened earth. There was no holding back out here, unlike at the grounds. 

It is one raw force against another. Water and Fire. Hermione's moves more adaptable, free, and Voldemorts more controlled and potent. They dance around each other. The snake is faster than the lion and the lion more fierce with each twist of her body and her flick of her wand. Her attacks consisting of quick apparition closer and letting off a barrage of spells and quickly ducking away from the repercussions of her actions. It's only a matter of time though. Her movements are slowing and Voldemort shows no signs of stopping. 

She sees him through the trees and the second that she looks away a root from one of the large trees that Voldemort is uprooting stabs through her. She coughs up large amounts of blood and her body nearly goes limp against the thick bark. Sliding down by gravity so that her body is impaled all the way through. Her wand drops from her hands. Her cries sickening, near immobilizing as Voldemort is slowly walking his way over and she claws at what is pinning her in place. 

So much blood and unlike all the other times he has come to see the remains of a battle and the people dying on it. It freezes him worse than any cold. 

He steps out of the treeline. The madman looks over to him, pausing in his advance. Severus takes a deep breath and prepares himself for what will be most dangerous. 

“Ah, Severus. How much blood do you think I would need.” 

“I am not sure, my Lord.” He answers so the other will turn his back to him. 

Hermione’s golden eyes bore into him. Betrayal. It is the look that reminds him so much of the day that he called Lily a Mudblood. Her gasping and spitting of blood adds to the chill of the air. Voldemort looks over at her and her face. He seems amused by it. 

“Did you think he was on your side?” Voldemort takes out one of the vials from the lab, gripping her head and pulling her hair back collecting some of the blood from her upper chest. “Your order has been defeated for a long time. I thought it would be obvious which lines were drawn. Now, who is foolish.” 

“Still you…” Hermione hisses as Severus raises his wand at Voldemort and just misses him with a killing curse. 

~/*\~

Death is slow Tom decides. It is the harsh realization that every single breath that you have ever taken is something that has been taken for granted. His chest is heavy and so are his eyes. It's the slow suffocation and the pounding of his heart trying to make up the difference that makes each second that passes feel like an eternity. He wheezes. Nagini has long stopped moving the only thing he can notice that shows that she is still alive is the small breaths that she takes every once and a while, hardly noticeable through the fog. He keeps forcing the air into his body, deeper, more shaky breaths. He feels dizzy and nauseous, but no matter the breaths and the turning of his stomach it will not heave. 

The creeping darkness and blurring of his eyes, is making it hard to focus his fuzzy mind on anything. It's too warm here before it was too cold and now it is too warm. He feels like he is burning from the inside. He can’t feel his body, its numbness, feels light, and oddly not as painful as it should be. Except with each breath he takes he feels the constricting and the floor under him and then he is okay until the next wheezed breath. 

Tom is going to die. 

He knows it. 

He is going to die without ever having done something meaningful. 

He wants some water. If he is going to die at least he could have something to take the bad taste of blood from his mouth. 

He blinks slowly with his watery eyes. Even if he is fighting with all he has to get his magic to listen to him and heal him. It’s not working. 

He is never going to get to explore the world like he always dreamed of. He wanted to escape London. The city had always been too full of people noise and even if he likes someone now, he has no want to spend time with others. He wants to traverse old roads, hidden places, discover new things. There were so many books to read, so much to learn and he is never going to learn any of it. He never is going to become anything but the person that killed Myrtle and opened the chamber of secrets. He is never going to be more than that bright student that Slughorn bragged about at parties or the soul fragment from an old book that Hermione pulled out with a borrowed soul. 

“ Ha…” He would laugh if he could manage the air. He had wanted to live so badly forever that he never bothered to do more than look for a way to achieve it. What could he ever count as living from his memories? He had never really been happy till recently…

He closed his eyes giving in to what his body demanded of him. 

He never told her. He never told her she made him happy. He liked learning from her, even if she was one of the most frustrating and annoying people he had ever met. Hox would be relieved not to have him steal her attention though. 

And it is in that half-dead state that a stray thought crosses his mind. A small sliver of hope. 

“Hox…” 

The elf appeared in all his stunted glory. He can see the small bare feet. He can feel the little creature’s magic in the air. “Don’t worry young Riddle Hox will finish the job.” 

He can feel the elf taking the small shrunken sword from his side. 

He can’t force his voice to work. 

Nagini… didn’t need to die. 

Yes, she had done this to him, but he can understand her even if he doesn’t want to. There is one last hiss and he succumbs to the darkness. 

~/*\~

Hermione struggles to force herself off of the wooden spike that has pierced her. She cannot heal like this, she feels weak, and there is a darkened spot in the corner of her vision as the reaper has taken his place in this world to watch meaning one thing. Someone was going to die very soon. The fog almost seems to turn to her. Severus is a skilled fighter but he can not hold his own against that wand. No one could. 

He was going to die. 

Oh god, Severus was going to die…

She struggled harder trying to pull loose, feeling her bones snap with her effort and her organs tear. She hurls up blood and can't even muster a scream as she tumbles to the ground away from her wand in a heap. 

Her eyes burn with tears, she can hardly see. 

“Severus I thought better of you. After I spared you that night in the shrieking shack and I decided I could win even with the wands wandering allegiance.” Voldemort is not even trying. He is flicking the wand-like he is fighting an annoying buzzing insect. “I would think after so many years you would have chosen the winning side.”

Severus does not rise to his taunts, if he was to engage in banter he would no doubt be gutted. Hermione struggles onto her elbows, looking quickly for her wand. She can see it a few feet away sticking out of the snow. She needs it. Her body is starting to mend but the open wounds feel awful against the snow. 

Severus is hit by a curse that takes him off his feet and he crashes and slides out onto the ice. The lake gives a deep, hollow, cracking sound. And Severus doesn’t stir as the ice shatters and sinks into the deep waters. Voldemort walks slowly over to the water's edge forgetting about her. 

She needs her wand!

Severus will surface soon and he will not live if Voldemort is there waiting for him. 

She needs to fight. 

She has to. 

She calls her magic putting all she can into the spell and not to the mending of her broken ribs. 

'Come on.'

She squeezes the tears from her eyes. 

'Come on.'

The wand shakes and then flies to her grip. Her heart skips a beat not believing it came to her. She points it weakly and the curse she fires misses by a long shot, but it is enough to make those red eyes turn to her. Remember that she is there and now that she is healing.

~/*\~

Severus opens his eyes under the water. It’s cold and the air leaves his lungs as he panics. The water was not deep and he could stand up. But there is no doubt that the Dark Lord is waiting for that. The water made it hard to hear but he definitely heard a scream. He breached the surface quickly. He has to fight to get up onto the ice. His fingers nearly numb and gripping poorly to the only way out. Hermione is kneeling her wand clutched in gloved hands. She is screaming under the torture curse. curling into herself. He pulls himself from the water, his arms tremble. 

It's so cold...

His wand has sunk perhaps to the bottom of the lake at this point there is no good way of retrieving it. He doesn’t have time to search or the strength he is magically exhausted. 

He apparates and Voldemort turns expecting a spell and instead finds a vial of basilisk venom being hurled at him. It hits its mark smashing on his side and quickly eating into the fabric despite the enchantments that are there to protect. He grabs Hermione by the robe nearly tearing the remaining fabric off of her as he apperates away crashing down onto the sandy beach a short bit away from shell cottage. 

The small house’s lights are on and for a moment he just stares at the sky above him. He feels the fresh snow under him. The bite of cold. He feels the soft warmth of the woman next to him. And just laughs. Laughs at the fact that he somehow is still alive. Laughs because he has thrown a potion that surely ate away some of Voldemort’s flesh, stood against him, and is still alive. 

It is a rush that only the end of the adrenaline in his veins can provide and sink into him the horror of what repercussions there are for his actions. His eyes well up with tears at the fact that Hermione and himself have somehow made it out of this mess. 

Hermione is slowly getting up and he quickly stumbles over himself to support her. She looks very much like she should have been dead and he is slightly grateful to the curse that she has on her that she is alright. Well perhaps alright is not the correct word, but at least alive. They can plan their next moves. If Tom had done his job. Voldemort would be mortal again. 

She leans into him gripping at his wet rope as her lifeline. 

“I thought he was going to kill you.” She says so softly as she just hugs him and all the hesitance that they had been showing each other melts as he holds her as securely back as he is able. “I thought when I saw ….” 

Whatever she was going to say is cut off as there is a house-elf yanking at their robes. “Hox needs assistance. Riddle is hurt, hurt badly. Hox doesn’t think that he will make it much longer. He needs healing that Hox can not provide.” 

Hermione lets go of him in an instant. Her legs nearly give out on her and cause her to stumble as she runs to her apprentice. He feels the cold again instatnly without her in his arms and struggles to get moving to go after her. 

Tom is on the floor with a pillow under his head. It's obvious that Hox is worried about moving him. Hermione is pulling away fabric that is blood-soaked. The bite is deep, swollen, and leaking clumped blood. He almost wonders if it would be better to cut it off. Her hands are shaking and her eyes are welling up with tears. 

“You can’t leave me too.” She croaks out. 

He isn’t breathing or if he is there is not enough movement in his chest to see it. Tom is unconscious, making this an even more dire situation. Nagini had very potent venom. Hermione is running diagnostic spells. Her voice is wavering, panic is taking hold and he has seen her freeze before because of it. 

He isn’t going to last like that. 

“Hermione…” He takes her hand and slowly gets the wand from her so that he can set about the work that actually will save the boy. She stares at him with those sparkling sad eyes and he sighs deeply. “He might make it through this get me a blood renewal potion and the antivenom.” 

~/*\~

_He lay in a bright mist. Not fog not smoke, nothing clear but the light around him. His surroundings were not hidden by clouds, rather the vapor had not yet formed into surroundings. It was as if there was steam coming off the morning tea or the formation of weather. The floor on which he lay seemed to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be. There was no texture to it. Nothing tangible. There was no pain to be found. No blood on his skin nor clothes. There was no snake near him or the hum of old pipes._

_He slowly stood holding onto himself and tried to peer into the nothingness that was around him. He can’t really feel the fabric that makes up his clothes nor any warmth from his own body._

_“I’m dead?”_

_He wonders out loud. There is shifting to the whiteness and there is a bench up ahead. He slowly moves over to it. He feels like sitting is the right thing to do all things considering. He needs a moment. Maybe a lot of moments._

_The place is so empty…_

_He feels small and alone…_

_He doesn’t want to stay here._

~/*\~

Severus administrates the antivenom and is much more of a skilled healer than herself. It is because of Severus that Tom is still breathing, be it shallowly. His face is reddened, sweaty, and he is too warm. Hermione keeps touching him. She can’t help it. He is in critical condition. There is no telling if he will even wake…

But she can’t…

She can’t leave him alone. 

She knows that is something that the other fears. She has pretended not to notice his dependency on her. The way he seeks touch and affection from her. His violent reaction from her absence for a few weeks. 

_‘Because you left.’_ He had said but it sounded more and more in her head as you betrayed me. You abandoned me first. 

He has been as lonely as she has been. 50 years in a paper-bound prison. However many years she had been in the wastes. And he wanted to spend time with her. He wanted to fix the world into something that she wanted. She had not failed to note that want in his voice; the want to finish those that would be in her way. 

She shuts her eyes. It is a dangerous thing the power she seems to have over him in that regard. He holds a wand that before did not have anything worthy to strike at and she had given him a purpose, something to focus all those negative emotions at. She has given her kindness towards him and their isolation has shaped the both of them to a codependency. She can trust him to have her back. They can duel in tandem, skillfully, and she needs him to help her finish the job. She can not do it alone. 

When Voldemort is dead. She is not sure what she will do with herself. She had thought of just letting herself slink into obscurity after securing those that would not abuse their power. But Tom had asked to stay with her. 

His bright brown eyes and flushed face had been so determined. Her apprentice… still thought she had worthy enough things to teach. She brought his limp hand closer to her. Holding it tighter. 

“Come back to me.” She strokes the small curls of hair on his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter to be sure but more to come very soon :D

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, Questions, and Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.


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